c? 

^ 

^ 






PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY 



INTO THE 



ORIGIN OF OUR IDEAS 



SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL; 



INTRODUCTORY DISCOURSE 



CONCERNING 



TASTE. 



RIGHT HON. EDMUND BURKE. 

ADAPTED TO POPULAR USE 

BY 

ABRAHAM MILLS, A.M., 

PROFESSOR OF RHETORIC AND BELLES LBTTRE9. 




NEW-YORK: 

HARPER & BROTHERS, 82 CLIFF- STREET. 



I 












Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1844, by 

Harper & Brothers, 
In the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New- York. 



STii^. 






/ 



EDI TOR'S PREFACE 



The high estimation in which the following treatise 
on the Sublime and Beautiful is uniformly held, removes 
from the editor of the present edition the necessity of 
attempting to, set forth its peculiar merits. Its utihty 
and importance in forming the taste of the scholar, and 
in giving a proper direction to his mind, are universal- 
ly admitted. Without enhirging, therefore, the editor 
proceeds to assign his reasons for offering the present 
volume to the public. 

In the editions of the work hitherto published, there 
are some passages which violate that delicacy of ex- 
pression that should peculiarly characterize the lan- 
guage of books designed foi the use of schools. 

From this edition those passages are carefully ex- 
punged, without interrupting, in the smallest degree, 
the chain of the authors reasoning; it may, therefore, 
now be used with perfect piopriety. 

In order to facilitate the study of the work, all the 
Latin and Greek quotations, made by the author, have 
been clothed in a free translation ; so that the scholar 
will not be perplexed in his studies, as is often the case, 
by repeatedly meeting with illustrations which he does 
not understand. 

The present edition is also accompanied with inter- 



f 



t 



iv EDITOR^S PREFACE. 

rogations, the necessity of which was suggested to the 
editor by the experience of a number of years in the 
use of the work without them. These interrogations 
were prepared with the greatest care, and are intended 
so to evolve the substance of the author as to require 
connected answers, which must be, in thelnselves, in- 
telHgible sentences. 

With these improvements, the work is submitted to 
the pubUc, with the utmost confidence that it will be 
received according to its intrinsic excellence. 

New- York, Feb., 1829, 



PREFACE. 



I HAVE endeavored to make this edition something 
more full and satisfactory than the first. I have sought 
with the utmost care, and read v^ith equal attention, 
every thing which has appeared in public against my 
opinions ; I have taken advantage of the candid liber- 
ty of my friends ; and if by these means I have been 
better enabled to discover the imperfections of the 
w^ork, the indulgence it has received, imperfect as it 
was, furnished me with a new motive to spare no rea- 
sonable pains for its improvement. Though I have not 
found sufficient reason, or what appeared to me suffi- 
cient, for making any material change in my theory, I 
have found necessary, in many places, to explain, il- 
lustrate, and enforce it ; I have prefixed an introductory 
discourse concerning Taste : it is a matter curious in 
itself, and it leads naturally enough to the principal 
inquiry. This, with the other explanations, has made 
the work considerably larger, and, by increasing its 
bulk, has, I am afraid, added to its faults ; so that, not- 
withstanding all my attention, it may stand in need of 
a yet greater share of indulgence than it required at 
its first appearance. 

They who are accustomed to studies of this nature 
will expect, and they will allow, too, for many faults. 
They know that many of the objects of our inquiry 
are in themselves obscure and intricate ; and that many 
others have been rendered so by affected refinements 
or false learning ; they know that there are many im- 
pediments in the subject, in the prejudice of others, 
and even in our own, that render it a matter of no 

A8 



VI PREFACE. 



small difficulty to show, in a clear light, the genuine 
face of nature. They know that while the mind is in- 
tent on the general scheme of things, some particular 
parts must be neglected; that we must often submit 
the style to the matter, ani frequently give up the 
praise of elegance, satisfied with being clear. 

The characters of nature are legible, it is true ; but 
they are not plain enough to enable those who run to 
read them. We must make use of a cautious, I had 
almost said, a timorous method of proceeding. We 
must not attempt to fly, when we can scarcely pretend 
to creep. In considering any complex matter, we 
ought to examine every distinct ingredient in the com- 
position, one by one, and reduce every thing to the ut- 
most simpUcity, since the condition of our nature binds 
us to a strict law and very narrow limits. We ought 
afterward to re-examine the principles by the eflfect of 
the composition, as well as the composition by that of 
the principles. We ought to compare our subject with 
things of a similar nature, and even with things of a 
contrary nature ; for discoveries may be, and often are, 
made by the contrast, which would escape us on the 
single view. The greater number of the comparisons 
we make, the more general and the more certain our 
knowledge is like to prove, as built upon a more ex- 
tensive and perfect induction. 

If an inquiry thus carefully conducted should fail at 
last of discovering the truth, it may answer an end, 
perhaps, as useful, in discovering to us the weakness of 
our own understanding. If it does not make us know- 
ing, it may make us modest. If it does not preserve 
us from error, it may, at least, from the spirit of error ; 
and may make us cautious of pronouncing with posi- 
tiveness or with haste, when so much labour may end 
in so much uncertainty. 



PREFACE. Vll 

I could wisb that, in examining this theory, the same 
method were pursued which I endeavored to observe 
in forming it. The objections, in my opinion, ought to 
be proposed, either to the several principles as they are 
distinctly considered, or to the justness of the conclu- 
sion which is drawn from them. But it is common to 
pass over both the premises and conclusion in silence, 
and to produce, as an objection, some poetical passage 
which does not seem easily accounted for upon the 
principles I endeavor to establish. This manner of 
proceeding I should think very improper. The task 
would be infinite, if we could establish no principle 
until we had previously unraveled the complex texture 
of every image or description to be found in poets and 
orators. And though we should never be able to rec- 
oncile the eflfect of such images to our principles, this 
can never overturn the theory itself, while it is founded 
on certain and indisputable facts. A theory founded 
on experiment, and not assumed, is always good for so 
much as it explains. Our inability to push it indefinite- 
ly is no argument at all against it. This inability may 
be owing to our ignorance of some necessary mediums : 
to want of proper application ; to many other causes 
besides a defect in the principles we employ. In re- 
ality, the subject requires a much closer attention than 
we dare claim from our manner of treating it. 

If it should not appear on^ the face of the work, I 
must caution the reader against imagining that I in- 
tended a dissertation on the "Sublime and Beautiful. 
My inquiry went no farther than to the origin of these 
ideas. If the qualities which I have ranged under the 
head of the Sublime be all found consistent with each 
other, and all different from those which I place under 
the head of Beauty ; and if those which compose the 



Vlll FREFACE. 

class of the Beautiful have the same consistency with 
themselves, and the same opposition to those which are 
classed under the denomination of Sublime, I am in 
little pain whether any body chooses to follow the 
name I give them or not, provided he allows that what 
I disposed under different heads are in reality different 
things in nature. The use I make of the words may 
be blamed, as too confined, or too extended ; my mean- 
ing can not well be misunderstood. 

To conclude : whatever progress may be made to- 
ward the discovery of truth in this matter, I do not 
repent the pains I have taken in it. The use of such 
inquiries may be very considerable. Whatever turns 
the soul inward on itself tends to concentre its forces, 
and to fit it for greater and stronger flights of science. 
By looking into physical causes, our minds are opened 
and enlarged ; and in this pursuit, whether we take, or 
whether we lose or gain, the chase is certainly of ser- 
vice. Cicero, true as he was at the Academic philos- 
ophy, and, consequently, led to reject the certainty of 
physical, as of every other kind of knowledge, yet free- 
ly confesses its great importance to the human under- 
standing : " Est amimorum ingeniorumque nostrorum 
naturale quoddam quasi pabulum consideratio contem- 
platioque naturae^'' If we can direct the lights we de- 
rive from such exalted speculations upon the humbler 
field of the imagination, while we investigate the 
springs, and trace the courses of our passions, we may 
not only communicate to the taste a sort of philosoph 
ical solidity, but we may reflect back on the severej 
sciences some of the. graces and elegances of taste 
without which the greatest proficiency in those sci 
ences will always have the appearance of something il 
liberal. 



CRITICAL NOTICE. 



The following critical notice of the first edition of 
this work was written by the late William Leggett, 
Esq., and published in the " Critic," a weekly periodi- 
cal of which he was, at that time, the editor. To the 
present edition the notice is as applicable as it was to 
that, as the work has since undergone no alteration 
whatever. 

The New- York American, the Courier and Enquir- 
er, the Commercial Advertiser, the New- York Observ- 
er, and all the other leading journals of the city, con- 
tained corresponding views of the merits, both of the 
original " Inquiry," and of the labors of the editor. 

" A Philosophical Inquiry into the Origin of our Ideas 
of the Sublime and Beautiful. With an Introductory 
Discourse concerning Taste. By the Right Hon. Ed- 
mund Burke. Adapted to popular use by Abraham 
Mills, Teacher of Rhetoric and Belles-Lettres. 12mo. 
New- York, 1829. G. C. &. H. Carvill. 

" Of the character of Burke's admirable treatise on 
the Sublime and Beautiful, a work that has been so 
long and thoroughly known, and so highly estimated 
by all who have any pretensions to letters, it would be 
indeed superfluous, at this day, to enter into an exam- 
ination. But, notwithstanding the high reputation 
which it has deservedly acquired, on account of its per- 
vading merits, and its very great utility in improving 
the taste, and giving a proper direction to the mind of 
the scholar, it has always been an objection to this ster- 



X CRITICAL NOTICE. 

ling production, that, in some parts, it was stained with 
indelicacies of thoughts an 1 allusion which could not 
but have a pernicious influence on juvenile learners, 
and which constituted a sufficient barrier to its intro- 
duction into institutions for the instruction of females. 

" To do away with these unseemly blemishes, with- 
out materially changing the language of the author, 
and without interrupting, in any degree, the chain of 
his reasoning, has been the principal motive of the 
present editor ; and in this we have great pleasure in 
saying that he has so fully succeeded, that there is not 
now, throughout the wholo 250 pages of the volume 
before us, a single passage wherein that purity of 
thought or expression is \ iolated, by which all works 
should be characterized, but especially those which are 
intended for the use of schools. In some instances this 
end has been effected by expunging a few objection- 
able sentences, and, in others, by a slight alteration of 
the original text. 

" To extend the usefulness of this work, the present 
editor has annexed to all the Latin and Greek quota- 
tions made use of in the course of it a free translation 
into English ; thus doing away with those unpleasant 
obstructions which impede the progress of a mere Eng- 
lish scholar, and frequently turn him aside from stud- 
ies that would otherwise be pursued with equal pleas- 
ure and advantage. In addition to this improvement, 
questions are subjoined at the foot of every page, in- 
tended to exercise the learner, and impress on his mind 
the whole substance of the author. These appear to 
us to have been prepared with great care and skill. 
The editor of this expurgated edition of Burke on the 
Sublime and Beautiful has been facilitated in his labor 
by long experience as a teacher ; and he has produced 



CRITICAL NOTICED XI 

a work which we can commend, with the utmost con- 
fidence, to general adoption in seminaries for the in- 
struction of young persons of either sex throughout 
the Union. Why the task which he has so ably accom- 
plished has not been undertaken before, is really a mat- 
ter of surprise, when the great and acknowledged im- 
portance of this treatise to Belles-Lettres scholars is 
considered. But perhaps it is well for future students 
that it was reserved for Mr. Mills : for he has acquit- 
ted himself in a manner which at once reflects the 
highest credit on himself, and will prove of the utmost 
service to those whose attention shall be directed to 
the volume which he has produced. 

" It remains for us but to add that the mechanical 
execution of the work comports with its intrinsic ex- 
cellence, and is another specimen of that neatness of 
typography by which the publications of the Carvills 
are usually distinguished." 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

Introduction. On Taste . . . 17 

PART I. 

Sect. I. Novelty 41 

Sect. II. Pain and Pleasure 42 

Sect. III. The Difference between the Removal of Pain and posi- 
tive Pleasure 45 

Sect. IV. Of Delight and Pleasure, as opposed to each other . 47 

Sect. V. Joy and Grief 49 

Sect. VI. Of ihe Passions which belong to Self-preservation . 50 

Sect. VII. Of the Sublime 61 

Sect. VIII. Of the Passions which belong to Society . . .52 

Sect. IX. Of Beauty 54 

Sect. X. Society and Solitude 55 

.Sect. XI. Sympathy, Imitation, and Ambition . . . .56 

Sect. XII. Sympathy 56 

Sect. XIII. The Effects of Sympathy in the Distresses of others . 58 

Sect. XIV. Of the Effects of Tragedy 60 

Sect. XV. Imitation .' 62 

Sect. XVI, Ambition -64 

Sect. XVII. The Recapitulation 66 

Sect. XVIII. The Conclusion . 67 

PART II. 
Sect. I. Of the Passions caused by the Sublime . . .72 

Sect. II. Terror 72 

Sect. III. Obscurity 74 

Sect. IV. Of the Difference between Clearness and Obscurity with 

regard to the Passions . . ... . .75 

Sect. V. The same Subject continued 76 

Sect. VI. Power 81 

Sect. VII. Privation 90 

Sect. VIII. Vastness . . 90 

Sect. IX. Infinity 92 

Sect. X. Succession and Uniformity 94 

Sect. XI. Magnitude in Building 96 

Sect. XII. Infinity in pleasing Objects ...... 97 

B 



XIV CONTENTS. 

Sect. XIII. Difficulty 98 

Sect. XIV. Magnificence 98 

Sect. XV. Light 101 

Sect. XVI. Light in Building 102 

Sect. XVII. Color considered as productive of the Sublime . . 103 

Sect. XVIII. Sound and Loudness 104 

Sect. XIX. Suddenness . . . 105 

Sect. XX. Intermitting 106 

Sect. XXL The Cries of Animals 107 

Sect. XXII. Smell and Taste. Bitters and Stenches . . .108 
Sect. XXIII. Feeling. Pain 110 

PART III. 

Sect. L Of Beauty 112 

Sect. II. Proportion not the Cause of Beauty in Vegetables . 113 
Sect. III. Proportion not the Cause of Beauty in Animals . . 118 
Sect. IV. Proportion not the Cause of Beauty in the Human 

Species 119 

Sect. V. Proportion farther considered 126 

Sect. VI. Fitness not the Cause of Beauty 130 

Sect. VII. The real Effects of Fitness 133 

Sect. VIII. The Recapitulation 136 

Sect. IX. Perfection not the Cause of Beauty .... 137 
Sect. X. How far the Idea of Beauty may be applied to the 

qualities of the Mind 138 

Sect. XI. How far the Idea of Beauty may be applied to Virtue 140 

Sect. XII. The real Cause of Beauty 140 

Sect. XIII. Beautiful Objects small 141 

Sect. XIV. Smoothness 143 

Sect. XV. Gradual Variation 144 

Sect. XVI. Delicacy 146 

Sect. XVIL Beauty in Color . .147 

Sect. XVIII. Recapitulation 148 

Sect. XIX. The Physiognomy . . . . . . .148 

Sect. XX. The Eye 149 

Sect. XXI. Ugliness 150 

Sect. XXII. Grace 151 

Sect. XXIII. Elegance and Speciousness 151 

Sect. XXIV. The Beautiful in Feeling 152 

Sect. XXV. The Beautiful in Sounds .154 

Sect. XXVI. Taste and Smell .156 

Sect. XXVII. The Sublime and Beautiful compared .... 157 

PART IV. 

Sect. I. Of the efficient Cause of the Sublime and Beautiful . 159 
Sect. II. Association .... f .... 161 



CONTENTS. XV 

Sect, IH. Cause ef Pain and Fear 162 

Sect. IV. Continued 164 

Sect. V. How the Sublime is produced 165 

Sect. VI. How Pdin can be the Cause of Delight .... 166 
Sect. VII, Exercise necessary for the finer Organs , . . 168 
Sect. VIII. Why Things not dangerous sometimes produce a Pas- 
sion lilte Terror • 169 

Sect. IX, Why visual Objects of great Dimensions are Sublime . 169 

Sect. X. Unity, why requisite to Vastness 171 

Sect. XI. The artificial Infinite 172 

Sect. XII. The Vibrations must be similar 174 

Sect. XIII. The Effects of Succession in visual Objects explained . 174 
Sect. XIV. Locke's Opinion concerning Darkness considered . . 177 
Sect. XV. Darkness terrible in its own Nature . . . .179 
Sect. XVI. Why Darkness is terrible . . . . . .180 

Sect. XVII. The Effects of Blackness 182 

Sect. XVIII, The Effects of Blackness moderated . . . .185 

Sect. XIX. The physical Cause of Love 186 

Sect. XX. Why Smoothness is beautiful 188 

Sect. XXI. Sweetness, its Nature 188 

Sect. XXII. Sweetness relaxing 191 

Sect. XXIII. Variation, why beautiful 193 

Sect. XXIV. Concerning Smallness 195 

Sect. XXV. Of Color 199 

PART V. 

Sect. I. Of Words 201 

Sect. II. The common Effect of Poetry, not by raising Ideas of 

Things 202 

Sect. III. General Words before Ideas 204 

Sect. IV. The Effects of Words 206 

Sect. V. Examples that Words may affect without raising Images 207 
Sect. VI. Poetry not strictly an imitative Art .... 213 
Sect VII. How Words influence the Passions .... 214 



INTRODUCTION. 



ON TASTE. 

On a superficial view, we may seem to differ very 
widely from each other in om- reasonings, and no less 
in our pleasures ; but, notwithstanding this difference, 
which I think to be rather apparent than real, it is 
probable that the standard both of Reason and Taste 
is the same in all human creatures ; for if there were 
not some principles of judgment as well as of sentiment 
common to all mankind, no hold could possibly be 
taken, either on their reason or their passions, sufficient 
to maintain the ordinary correspondence of life. It 
appears, indeed, to be generally acknowledged, that 
with regard to truth and falsehood, there is something 
fixed. We find people in their disputes continually 
appealing to certain tests and standards, which are al- 
lowed on all sides, and are supposed to be estabUshed 
in our common nature. But there is not the same ob- 
vious concurrence in any uniform or settled principles 
which relate to Taste. It is even commonly supposed 
that this delicate and aerial faculty, which seems too 
volatile to endure even the chains of a definition, can 
not be properly tried by any test, nor regulated by any 
standard. There is so continual a call for the exercise 

From what does it appear probable that the standard of both Reason and 
Taste is the same in all human creatures ? How does it appear that with 
regard to truth and falsehood there is something fixed ? Is there the same 
obvious concurrence in reference to the principles which relate to Taste ? 
Of this delicate and aerial faculty what is commonly supposed'' 

B2 



18 INTRODUCTION. 

of the reasoning faculty, and it is so much strengthen- 
ed by perpetual contention, that certain maxims of 
right reason seem to be tacitly settled among +he most 
ignorant. The learned have improved on this rude 
science, and reduced those maxims into a system. If 
Taste has not been so happily cultivated, it was not 
that the subject was barren, but that the laborers were 
few or negligent ; for, to say the truth, there are not' 
the same interesting motives to impel us to fix the one 
which urge us to ascertain the other. And, after all, 
if men differ in their opinion concerning such matters, 
their difference is not attended with the same import- 
ant consequences ; else I make no doubt that the log- 
ic of Taste, if I may be allowed the expression, might 
very possibly be as well digested, and we might come 
to discuss matters of this nature with as much certain- 
ty, as those which seem more immediately within the 
province of mere reason. And, indeed, it is very ne- 
cessary, at the entrance into such an inquiry as the 
present, to make this point as clear as possible ; for if 
Taste has no fixed principles, if the imagination is not 
affected according to some invariable and certain laws, 
our labor is likely to be employed to very little pur- 
pose ; as it must be judged a useless, if not an absurd, 
undertaking, to lay down rules for caprice, and to set 
up for a legislator of whims and fancies. 

The term Taste, like all other figurative terms, is 
not extremely accurate ; the thing which we under- 

Why have certain maxims of right reason been tacitly settled among the 
most ignorant ? How have the learned improved on this rude science ? 
Why has not Taste been so happily cultivated '! If differences in opinion 
with respect to Taste were attended with the same important consequences 
that differences with respect to Reason are, what would follow? Why is 
it necessary, at the entrance into such an inquiry as the present, to make 
this point as clear as possible ? 



ON TASTE. 19 

stand by it is far from a simple and determinate idea 
in the minds of most men, and it is therefore hable to 
uncertainty and confusion. I have no great opinion of 
a definition, the celebrated remedy for the cure of this 
disorder ; for when we define, we seem in danger of 
circumscribing Nature within the bounds of our own 
notions, which we often take up at hazard, or embrace 
on trust, or form out of a limited and partial consider- 
ation of the object before us, instead of extending our 
ideas to take in all that Nature comprehends, according 
to her manner of combining. We are limited in our 
inquiry by the strict laws to which we have submitted 
at our setting out. 

" Circa vilem patulumque morabimur orbem, 
Unde pudor proferre pedem vetat aut operis lex." 
" We shall linger about this vile and wide-spread world, whence shame, 
or the law of labor, forbids us to move our footsteps." 

A definition may be very exact, and yet go but a 
very little way toward informing us of the nature of 
the thing defined ; but let the virtue of a definition be 
w^hat it may in the order of things, it seems rather to 
follow than to precede our inquiry, of which it ought 
to be considered as the result. It must be acknowl- 
edged that the methods of disquisition and teaching 
may be sometimes different, and on very good reason, 
undoubtedly ; but, for my part, I am convinced that the 
method of teaching which approaches most nearly to 
the method of investigation is incomparably the best ; 
since, not content with serving up a few barren and 
lifeless truths, it leads to the stock on which they grew ; 

it tends to set the reader himself in the track of inven- 

\ 

Why is the term Taste liable to uncertainty and confusion ? In defining 
Taste, of what do we seem in danger ? Why is not a definition here requi- 
site ? Why is the method of teaching which approaches the most nearly 
to investigation the best ? 



20 INTRODUCTION. 

tion, and to direct him into those paths in which the 
author has made his own discoveries, if he should be 
so happy as to have made any that are valuable. 

But, to cut off all pretence for caviling, I mean by 
the word Taste no more than that faculty or those 
faculties of the mind which are affected with, or which 
form a judgment ^Ipthe works of imagination and the 
elegant arts. This is, I think, the most general idea 
of that word, and what is the least connected with any 
particular theory. And my point, in this inquiry, is to 
find whether there are any principles, on which the 
imagination is affected, so common to all, so grounded 
and certain, as to supply the means of reasoning satis- 
factorily about them. And such principles of taste I 
fancy there are, however paradoxical it may seem to 
those who, on a superficial view, imagine that there is 
so great a diversity of tastes, both in kind and degree, 
that nothing can be more indeterminate. 

All the natural powers in man, with which I am ac- 
quainted, that are conversant about external objects, 
are the senses, the imagination, and the judgment. 
And, first, with regard to the Senses. We do, and 
we must suppose, that, as the conformation of their or- 
gans are nearly or altogether the same in all men, so 
the manner of perceiving external objects is in all men 
the same, or with little difference. We are satisfied 
that what appears to be light to one eye appears light 
to another ; that what seems sweet to one palate, is 
sweet to another ; that what is dark and bitter to this 
man, is likewise dark and bitter to that ; and we con- 



What is meant by the word Taste? In this inquiry, what is the object? 
What are all the natural powers of man that are conversant about external 
objects ? Why is the manner of perceiving external objects in all men so 
nearly the same ? How is this illustrated ? 



ON TAStft. 21 

elude, in the same manner, of great and little, hard and 
soft, hot and cold, rough and smooth, and, indeed, of 
all the natural qualities and affections of bodies. If 
we suffer ourselves to imagine that their senses pre- 
sent to different men different images of things, this 
sceptical proceeding will make every sort of reason- 
ing, on every subject, vain and frivolous, even that 
sceptical reasoning itself which had persuaded us to 
entertain a doubt concerning the agreement of our 
perceptions. But, as there will be little doubt that 
bodies present similar images to the whole species, it 
must necessarily be allowed, that the pleasures and the 
pains which every object excites in one man, it must 
raise in all mankind, while it operates naturally, sim- 
ply, and by its proper powers only ; for, if we deny 
this, we must imagine that the same cause, operating 
in the same manner, and on subjects of the same kind, 
will produce different effects, which would be highly 
absurd. Let us first consider this point in the sense 
of taste, and the rather as the faculty in question has 
taken its name from that sense. All men are agreed 
to call vinegar sour, honey sweet, and aloes bitter ; 
and as they are all agreed in finding these qualities in 
those objects, they do not in the least differ concern- 
ing their effects with regard to pleasure and pain. 
They all concur in calling sweetness pleasant, and 
sourness and bitterness unpleasant. Here there is no 
diversity in their sentiments ; and that there is not, ap- 
pears fully from the consent of all men in the meta- 

What will be the consequence of suffering ourselves to imagine that their 
senses present to different men different images of things? There being 
little doubt that bodies present similar images to the whole species, what 
must be allowed, and why ? In what are all men agreed ? and what fol- 
lows ? In what farther are they agreed ? How does it appear that there 
is no diversity in their sentiments on this subject? 



2S INTRODUCTION. 

phors which are taken from the sense of Taste. A 
sour temper, bitter expressions, bitter curses, a bitter 
fate, are terms well and strongly understood by all ; 
and we are altogether as well understood when we 
say a sweet disposition, a sweet person, a sweet con- 
dition, and the like. It is confessed that custom, and 
some other causes, have made many deviations from 
the natural pleasures or pains which belong to these 
several tastes ; but then the power of distinguishing 
between the natural and the acquired relish remains to 
the very last. A man frequently comes to prefer the 
taste of tobacco to that of sugar, and the flavour of 
vinegar to that of milk ; but this makes no confusion 
in tastes, while he is sensible that the tobacco and vin- 
egar are not sweet, and while he knows that habit 
alone has reconciled his palate to these alien pleasures. 
Even with such a person we may speak, and with suf- 
ficient precision, concerning tastes. But should any 
man be found who declares that to him tobacco has a 
taste like sugar, and that he can not distinguish be- 
tween milk and vinegar ; or that tobacco and vinegar 
are sweet, milk bitter, and sugar sour, we immediately 
conclude that the organs of this man are out of order, 
and that his palate is utterly vitiated. We are as far 
from conferring with such a person upon tastes, as 
from reasoning concerning the relations of quantity 
with one who should deny that all the parts together 
were equal to the whole. We do not call a man of 
this kind wrong in his notions, but absolutely mad. 
Exceptions of this sort, in either way, do not at all 

What examples are given ? What is here confessed ? But what power 
still remains? Why does not the preference given by some men to things 
alien to the natural palate produce confusion in tastes ? What do we con- 
clude of the man who declares that to him tobacco has a taste like sugar, 
&c. ? Why do not exceptions of this sort, in either way, impeach our gen- 
eral rule ? 



ON TASTE, 23 

impeach our general rule, nor make us conclude that 
men have various principles concerning the relations 
of quantity, or the taste of things. So that when it is 
said, Taste can not be disputed, it can only mean that 
no one can strictly answer what pleasure or pain some 
particular man may find from the taste of some par- 
ticular thing. This, indeed, can not be disputed ; but 
we may dispute, and with sufficient clearnes, too, con- 
cerning the things which are naturally pleasing or dis- 
agreeable to the sense. But when we talk of any pe- 
culiar or acquired relish, then we must know the hab- 
its, the prejudices, or the distempers of this particular 
man, and we must draw our conclusion from those. 

This agreement of mankind is not confined to the 
taste solely. The principle of pleasure derived from 
sight is the same in all. Light is more pleasing than 
darkness. Summer, when the earth is clad in green, 
when the heavens are serene and bright, is more agree- 
able than winter, when every thing makes a diflferent 
appearance. I never remember that any thing beau- 
tiful, whether a man, a beast, a bird, or a plant, was 
ever shown, though it were to a hundred people, that 
they did not all immediately agree that it was beauti- 
ful, though some might have thought that it fell short 
of their expectation, or that other things were still 
more beautiful than it. I believe no man thinks a 
goose to be more beautiful than a swan, or imagines 
that what they call a Friezland hen excels a peacock. 
It must be observed, too, that the pleasures of the sight 
are not near so complicated, and confused, and altered 



How is it illustrated that this agreement of mankind is not confined to taste 
solely? What evidence have we that all men agree in pronouncing that 
beautiful which is intrinsically so ? Why are not the pleasures of sight SQ 
complicated and confused as the pleasures of taste ? 



24 INTRODUCTION. 

by unnatural habits and associations, as the pleasures of 
the taste are ; because the pleasures of the sight more 
commonly acquiesce in themselves, and are not so oft- 
en altered by considerations which are independent 
of the sight itself. But things do not spontaneously 
present themselves to the palate as they do to the 
sight ; they are generally applied to it either as food 
or as medicine ; and, from the qualities v^^hich they 
possess for nutritive or medicinal purposes, they often 
form the palate by degrees, and by force of these as- 
sociations. Thus, opium is pleasing to Turks, on ac- 
count of the agreeable delirium it produces. Tobacco 
is the delight of Dutchmen, as it diffuses a torpor and 
pleasing stupefaction. Fermented spirits please our 
common people, because they banish care, and all con- 
siderations of future or present evils. All of these 
w^ould lie absolutely neglected, if their properties had 
originally gone no farther than the taste ; but all these, 
together with tea and coffee, and some other things, 
have sed from the apothecary's shop to our tables, 
and were taken for health long before they were 
thought of for pleasure. The effect of the drug has 
made us use it frequently ; and frequent use, combined 
with the agreeable effect, has made the taste itself at 
last agreeable. But this does not in the least perplex 
our reasoning, because we distinguish, to the last, the 
acquiit-d from the natural relish. In describing the 
taste of an unknown fruit, you would scarcely say that 
it had a sweet and pleasant flavor like tobacco, opium, 
or garlic, although you spoke to those who were in 

How is the palate often formed? What examples are given ? Under what 
circumstances would all of these lie absolutely neglected? How has the 
agreeableness of their taste been produced ? Why does not this perplex 
our reasoning? How is this illustrated ? 



O^ TASTE., 25 

the constant use of these drugs, and had great pleas- 
ure in them. There is, in all men, a sufficient remem- 
brance of the original natural causes of pleasure to en- 
able them to bring all things offered to their senses to 
that standard, and to regulate their feehngs and opin- 
ions by it. Suppose one, who had so vitiated his pal- 
ate as to take more pleasure in the taste of opium than 
in that of butter or honey, to be presented with a bo- 
lus of squills ; there is hardly any doubt that he would 
prefer the butter or honey to this nauseous morsel, or 
to any other bitter drug to which he had not been ac- 
customed ; which proves that his palate was naturally 
like that of other men in all things, that it is still Hke 
the palate of other men in many things, and only viti- 
ated in some particular points. For, in judging of any 
new thing, even of a taste similar to that which he has 
been formed by habit to like, he finds his palate affect- 
ed in the natural manner, and on the common princi- 
ples. Thus, the pleasure of all the senses, of the sight, 
and even of the taste, that most ambiguous of the 
senses, is the same in all, high and low, learned and 
unlearned. 

Besides the ideas, with their annexed pains and 
pleasures, which are presented by the sense, the mind 
of man possesses a sort of creative power of its own ; 
either in representing at pleasure the images of things 
in the order and manner in which they were received 
by the senses, or in combining those images in a new 
manner, and according to a different order. This 
power is called Imagination ; and to this belongs what- 
ever is called wit, fancy, invention, and the like. But 
it must be observed, that the power of the imagination 

What exists in all men ? How is this illustrated ? Define that powef 
which we call imagination. What belongs to it ? 

c 



26 INTRODUCTION. 

is incapable of producing any thing absolutely new : it 
can only vary the disposition of those ideas which it 
has received from the senses. Now the imagination 
is the most extensive province of pleasure and pain, as 
it is the region of our fears and our liopes, and of all 
our passions that are connected with them ; and what- 
ever is calculated to affect the imagination with these 
commanding ideas, by force of any original natural 
impression, must have the same power, pretty equally, 
over all men. For, since the imagination is only the 
representation of the senses, it can only be pleased or 
displeased with the images, from th^ same principle 
on which the senses are pleased or displeased with the 
realities ; and, consequently, there must be just as close 
an agreement in the imaginations as in the senses of 
men. A little attention will convince us that this must 
of necessity be the case. 

But in the imagination, besides the pain or pleasure 
arising from the properties of the natural object, a 
pleasure is perceived from the resemblance which the 
imitation has to the original : the imagination, I con- 
ceive, can have no pleasure but what results from one 
or other of these causes. And these causes operate 
pretty uniformly upon all men, because they operate 
by principles in nature, and which are not derived 
from any particular habits or advantage. Mr. Locke 
very justly and finely observes of wit, that it is chiefly 
conversant in tracing resemblances : he remarks, at 

As the imagination cannot produce any thing absolutely new, what only 
can it do ? Why is the imagination the most extensive province of pleas- 
ure and pain ? Why must whatever is calculated to affect the imagination 
with these commanding ideas have the same power over all men ? What 
pleasure is perceived in the imagination besides the pain or pleasure arising 
from the properties of the natural object ? What evidence is there that 
these causes operate pretty uniformly upon all men? What does Mr. 
Locke observe of wit and judgment ■* 



ON TASTE. 27 

the same time, that the business of judgment is rather 
in finding differences. It may, perhaps, appear, on 
this supposition, that there is no material distinction 
between the wit and the judgment, as they both seem 
to result from different operations of the same faculty 
of comparing. But, in reality, whether they are or 
are not dependent on the same power of the mind, 
they differ so very materially in many respects, that 
a perfect union of wit and judgment is one of the rarest 
things in the world. When two distinct objects are 
unlike to each other, it is only what we expect : things 
are in their common way, and therefore they make no 
impression on the imagination ; but when two distinct 
objects have a resemblance, we are struck, we attend 
to them, and we are pleased. The mind of man has 
naturally a far greater alacrity and satisfaction in tra- 
cing resemblances than in searching for differences, 
because, by making resemblances, we produce new 
images ; we unite, we create, we enlarge our stock : 
but in making distinctions, we offer no food at all to 
the imagination ; the task itself is more severe and irk- 
some, and what pleasure w^e derive from it is some- 
thing of a negative and indirect nature. A piece of 
new^s is told me in the morning ; this, merely as a piece 
of news, as a fact added to my stock, gives me some 
pleasure. In the evening, I find there was nothing in 
it. What do I gain by this but the dissatisfaction to 
find that I had been imposed upon ! Hence it is that 
men are much more naturally inclined to belief than 
to incredulity. And it is upon this principle that the 

On this supposition, what may perhaps appear ? To what extent do they 
in reality differ ? How is this illustrated ? Why has the mind of man nat- 
urally a greater alacrity and satisfaction in tracing resemblances than in 
searching for differences ? How is this fully illustrated ? 



2S INTRODUCTION. 

most ignorant and barbarous nations have frequently 
excelled in similitude, comparisons, metaphors, and al- 
legories, who have been weak and backward in dis- 
tinguishing and sorting their ideas. And it is for a 
reason of this kind that Homer and the Oriental wri- 
ters, though very fond of similitudes, and though they 
often strike out such as are truly admirable, seldom 
take care to have them exact ; that is, they are taken 
with the general resemblance, they paint it strongly, 
and they take no notice of the difference which may 
be found between the things compared. 

Now, as the pleasure of resemblance is that which 
principally flatters the imagination, all men are nearly 
equal on this point, as far as their knowledge of the 
things represented or compared extends. The prin- 
ciple of this knowledge is quite accidental, as it de- 
pends upon experience and observation, and not on the 
strength or weakness of any natural faculty ; and it is 
from this difference in knowledge that what we com- 
monly, though with no great exactness, call a differ- 
ence in taste, proceeds. A man to whom sculpture is 
new, sees a barber's block, or some ordinary piece of 
statuary : he is immediately struck and pleased, be- 
cause he sees something like a human figure ; and, en- 
tirely taken up with this likeness, he does not at all at- 
tend to its defects. No person, I believe, at the first 
time of seeing a piece of imitation, ever did. Some 
time after, we suppose that this novice lights upon a 
more artificial work of the same nature ; he now be- 
gins to look with contempt on what he admired at 
first : not that he admired it even then for its unlike- 

From what does what we commonly call a difference in taste proceed ? 
How is this illustrated? With the increase of his knowledge does his 
taste alter ?. 



ON TASTE. 29 

ness to a man, but for^hat general, though inaccurate 
resemblance which it bore to the human figure. What 
he admired, at different times, in these so different fig- 
ures, is strictly the same ; and, though his knowledge 
is improved, his taste is not altered. Hitherto his mis- 
take was from a want of knowledge in art, and this 
arose from his inexperience ; but he may be still defi- 
cient from a want of knowledge in nature. For it is 
possible that the man in question may stop here, and 
that the master-piece of a great hand may please him 
no more than the middling performance of a vulgar 
artist ; and this not for want of better or higher relish, 
but because all men do not observe with sufficient ac- 
curacy on the human figure to enable them to judge 
properly of an imitation of it. And that the cridcal 
taste does not depend upon a superior principle in men, 
but upon superior knowledge, may appear from sever- 
al instances. The story of the ancient painter and 
the shoemaker is very well known. The shoemaker 
set the painter right with regard to some mistakes he 
had made in the shoe of one of his figures, which the 
painter, who had not made such accurate observations 
-on shoes, and was content with a general resemblance, 
had never observed. But this was no impeachment 
of the taste of the painter : it only showed some want 
of knowledge in the art of making shoes. Let us im- 
agine that an anatomist had come into the painter's 
working-room : his piece is in general well done, the 
figure in question in a good attitude, and the parts 
well adjusted to their various movements : yet the 
anatomist, critical in his art, may observe the swell of 
some muscle not quite just in the peculiar action of 

What was hitherto his mistake ? and from what did it arise ? What mark 
shows that he may still be deficient from a want of knowledge in nature ? 



30 INTRODUCTION. 

the figure. Here the anatomist observes wnat tne 
painter had not observed, and he passes by what the 
shoemaker had remarked. But a v^ant of the last 
critical knowledge in anatomy no more reflected on 
the natural good taste of the painter, or of any com- 
mon observer of his piece, than the want of an exact 
knowledge in the formation of a shoe. A fine piece 
of a decollated head of St. John the Baptist was shown 
to a Turkish emperor : he praised many things ; but 
he observed one defect : he observed that the skin did 
not shrink from the wounded part of the neck. The 
sultan on this occasion, though his observation was 
very just, discovered no more natural taste than the 
painter who executed this piece, or than a thousand 
European connoisseurs, who probably never would 
have made the same observation. His Turkish maj- 
esty had, indeed, been well acquainted with that terri- 
ble spectacle, which the others could only have repre- 
sented in their imagination. On the subject of their 
dislike there is a difference between all these people, 
arising from the diflferent kinds and degrees of their 
knowledge ; but there is something in common to the 
painter, the shoemaker, the anatomist, and the Turkish 
emperor : the pleasure arising from a natural object, 
so far as each perceives it justly imitated ; the satis- 
faction in seeing an agreeable figure ; the sympathy 
proceeding from a striking and affecting incident. So 
far as taste is natural, it is nearly common to all. 

In poetry, and other pieces of imagination, the same 
parity may be observed. It is true that one man is 

What three instances are given to show that the critical taste does not de- 
pend upon a superior principle in men, but upon superior knowledge ? In 
these instances, what is common to the painter, to the shoemaker, to the 
anatomist, and to the Turkish emperor? How may the same parity be ob- 
served in poetry and other pieces of imagination ? 



ON TASTE. 31 

charmed with Don Bellianis, and reads Virgil coldly ; 
while another is transported with the ^Eneid, and 
leaves Don Bellianis to children. These two men 
seem to have a taste very different from each other ; 
but, in fact, they differ very little. In both these pie- 
ces, which inspire such opposite sentiments, a tale ex- 
citing admiration is told ; both are full of action, both 
are passionate ; in both are voyages, battles, triumphs, 
and continual changes of fortune. The admirer of 
Don Bellianis, perhaps, does not understand the refined 
language of the iEneid, who, if it was degraded into 
the style of the Pilgrim's Progress, might feel it in all 
its energy, on the same principle which made him an 
admirer of Don Bellianis. 

In his favorite author he is not shocked with the con- 
tinual breaches of probability, the confusion of times, 
the offences against manners, the trampling upon ge- 
ography ; for he knows nothing of geography and chro- 
nology, and he has never examined the grounds of 
probability. He, perhaps, reads of a shipwreck on the 
coast of Bohemia : wholly taken up with so interesting 
an event, and only solicitous for the fate of his hero, 
he is not in the least troubled at this extravagant blun- 
der. For why should he be shocked at a shipwreck 
on the coast of Bohemia, who does not know but that 
Bohemia may be an island in the Atlantic Ocean? 
And, after all, what reflection is this on the natural 
good taste of the person here supposed ? 

So far, then, as taste belongs to the imagination, its S 
principle is the same in all men : there is no difference / 

Why is not the admirer of Don Bellianis shocked with the continual breach- 
es of probabihty, &c., of the author? In reading an account of a ship- 
wreck on the coast of Bohemia, why is he not troubled at the author's ex- 
travagant blunder ? 



33 INTRODUCTION. 

in the manner of their being affected, nor in the causes 
of the affection ; but in the degree there is a difference, 
which arises principally from two causes : either from 
a greater degree of natural sensibility, or from a closer 
and longer attention to the object. To illustrate this 
by the procedure of the senses, in which the same dif- 
ference is found, let us suppose a very smooth marble 
table to be set before two men : they both perceive it 
to be smooth, and they are both pleased with it be- 
cause of this quality. So far they agree. But sup- 
pose another, and after that another table, the latter 
still smoother than the former, to be set before them. 
It is now very probable that these men, who fire so 
agreed upon what is smooth, and in the pleasure from 
thence, will disagree when they come to settle which 
table has the advantage in point of poHsh. Here is, 
indeed, the great difference between tastes, when men 
come to compare the excess or diminution of things 
which are judged by degree, and not by measure. 
Nor is it easy, when such a difference arises, to settle 
the point, if the excess or diminution be not glaring. 
If we differ in opinion about two quantities, we can 
have recourse to a common measure, which may de- 
cide the question with the utmost exactness ; and this, 
I take it, is what gives mathematical knowledge a 
greater certainty than any other. But, in things 
whose excess is not judged by greater or smaller, as 
smoothness and roughness, hardness and softness, dark- 
ness and light, the shades of colors, all these are very 
easily distinguished when the difference is any way 

What are the two causes that produce different degrees of taste in men ? 
How may this be illustrated by the procedure of the senses ? What is it 
•which gives mathematical knowledge a greater certainty than any other ? 
What is observed of things whose excess is not judged by greater or 
smaller ? 



ON TASTE. 33 

considerable, but not when it is minute, for want of 
some common measures, which, perhaps, may never 
come to be discovered. In these nice cases, suppos- 
ing the acuteness of the sense equal, the greater atten- 
tion and habit in such things will have the advantage. 
In the question about the tables, the marble-polisher 
will unquestionably determine the most accurately. 
But, notwithstanding this want of a common measure 
for settling many disputes relative to the senses and 
their representative the imagination, we find that the 
principles are the same in all, and that there is no dis- 
agreement until we come to examine into the pre-em- 
inence or difference of things, which brings us within 
the province of the judgment. 

So long as we are conversant with the sensible qual- 
ities of things, hardly any more than the imagination 
seems concerned : little more, also, than the imagina- 
tion seems concerned when the passions are repre- 
sented, because, by the force of natural sympathy, they 
are felt in all men without any recourse to reasoning, 
and their justness recognized in every breast. Love, 
grief, fear, anger, joy, all these passions have in their 
turns affected every mind ; and they do not affect it 
in an arbitrary or casual manner, but upon certain, 
natural, and uniform principles. But, as many of the 
works of imagination are not confined to the represent- 
ation of sensible objects, nor to efforts upon the pas- 
sions, but extend themselves to the manners, the char- 
acters, the actions, and designs of men, their relations, 

In the question about the tables, why will the marble-polisher have the ad- 
vantage ? Notwithstanding the want of a common measure, &c., what do 
we find ? So long as we are conversant with the sensible qualities of 
things, what only seems concerned? Why does the imagination only seem 
concerned when the passions are represented ? What passions have u\ 
their turns affected every mind, and in what manner ? 



34 INTRODUCTION. 

their virtues, and vices, they come within the province 
of the judgment, which is improved by attention and 
by the habit of reasoning. All these make a very con- 
siderable part of what are considered as the objects 
of taste ; and Horace sends us to the schools of philos- ' 
ophy and the world for our instruction of them. What- 
ever certainty is to be acquired in morality and the 
science of life, just the same degree of certainty have 
we in what relates to them in works of imitation. In- 
deed, it is for the most part in our skill in manners, 
and in the observances of time, and place, and of de- 
cency in general, which is only to be learned in those 
schools to which Horace recommends us, that what is 
called taste, by way of distinction, consists ; and which 
is, in reality, no other than a more refined judgment. 
On the whole, it appears to me that what is called 
taste, in its most general acceptation, is not a simple 
idea, but is partly made up of a perception of the pri- 
mary pleasures of sense, of the secondary pleasures 
of the imagination, and of the conclusions of the rea- 
soning faculty concerning the various relations of 
these, and concerning the human passions, manners, 
and actions. All this is requisite to form taste ; and 
the groundwork of all these is the same in the human 
mind ; for, as the senses are the great originals of all 
our ideas, and, consequently, of all our pleasures, if 
they are not uncertain and arbitrary, the whole ground- 
work of taste is common to all, and, therefore, there is 
a sufficient foundation for a conclusive reasoning on 
these matters. 

When do works of the imagination come within the province of the judg- 
ment ? and how is it improved ? Of what do all these make a very consid- 
erable part? Where does Horace send us for our instruction of them? 
In what does what is called taste, by way of distinction, consist ? and what, 
in reality, is it? Of what is what is called taste, in its most general accep- 
tation, made up ? Why is all this requisite to form taste ? 



ON TASTE, 35 

While we consider taste merely according to its na- 
ture and species, we shall find its principles entirely 
uniform ; but the degree in which these principles pre- 
vail in the several individuals of mankind, is altogeth- 
er as different as the principles themselves are similar ; 
for sensibility and judgment, w^hich are the qualities 
that compose what we commonly call a taste, vary ex- 
ceedingly in various people. From a defect in the for- 
mer of these qualities arises a want of taste; a weak- 
ness in the latter constitutes a wrong or a bad one. 
There are some men formed with a feeling so blunt, 
with tempers so cold and phlegmatic, that they can 
hardly be said to be awake during the whole course 
of their lives. Upon such persons, the most striking ob- 
jects make but a faint and obscure impression. There 
are others so continually in the agitation of gross and 
merely sensual pleasures, or so occupied in the low 
drudgery of avarice, or so heated in the chase of hon- 
ors and distinction, that their minds, which had been 
used continually to the storms of these violent and tem- 
pestuous passions, can hardly be put in motion by the 
delicate and refined play of the imagination. These 
men, though from a different cause, become as stupid 
and insensible as the former ; but, whenever either of 
these happen to be struck with any natural elegance 
or greatness, or with these qualities in any work of 
art, they are moved upon the same principle. 

The cause of a wrong taste is a defect of judgment; 

Why is the degree in which the principles of taste prevail as different as 
the principles themselves are similar ? From what does a want of taste 
arise ? What constitutes a wrong taste ? What is remarked of men form- 
ed with blunt feelings, and cold and phlegmatic tempers ? What is the na- 
ture of the impression produced on the minds of such men by the most 
striking objects ? What effect is produced on the minds of others by the 
groveling pursuits of life ? Under what circumstances are these two char^ 
acteis equally excited ? 



36 INTRODUCTION. 

and this may arise from a natural weakness of under- 
standing, in whatever the strength of that faculty may 
consist ; or, which is much more commonly the case, 
it may arise from a want of proper and well-directed 
exercise, which alone can make it strong and ready. 
Besides, that ignorance, inattention, prejudice, rashness, 
levity, obstinacy, in short, all those passions, and all 
those vices, which pervert the judgment in other mat- 
ters, prejudice it no less in this its more refined and el- 
egant province. These causes produce different opin- 
ions upon every thing which is an object of the under- 
standing, without inducing us to suppose that there are 
no settled principles of reason. And, indeed, on the 
whole, one may observe, that there is rather less dif- 
ference upon matters of taste among mankind than 
upon most of those which depend upon the naked rea- 
son ; and that men are far better agreed on the excel- 
lence of a description in Virgil than on the truth or 
falsehood of a theory of Aristotle. 

A rectitude of judgment in the arts, which may be 
called a good taste, does, in a great measure, depend 
upon sensibility ; because, if the mind has no bent to 
the pleasures of the imagination, it will never apply 
itself sufficiently to works of that species to acquire a 
competent knowledge in them. But, though a degree 
of sensibility is requisite to form a good judgment, yet 
a good judgment does not necessarily arise from a 
quick sensibility of pleasure : it frequently happens 
that a very poor judge, merely by force of a greater 
complexional sensibility, is more affected by a very 

From what may a defect in the judgment arise ? What farther contributes 
essentially toward it ? On the whole, what may be observed ? Why does 
a rectitude of judgment in the arts depend, in a great measure, upon sensi- 
bility ? What evidence have we that a good judgment does not necessari- 
ly arise from a quick sensibility to pleasure ? 



ON TASTE. 37 

poor piece than the best judge by the most perfect ; for, 
as every thing new, extraordinary, grand, or passion- 
ate, is well calculated to affect such a person, and that 
the faults do not affect him, his pleasure is more pure 
and unmixed ; and, as it is merely a pleasure of the 
imagination, it is much higher than any which is deri- 
ved from a rectitude of the judgment : the judgment 
is, for the greater part, employed in throwing stum- 
bling-blocks in the way of the imagination, in dissipa- 
ting the scenes of its enchantment, and in tying us 
down to the disagreeable yoke of our reason ; for al- 
most the only pleasure that men have in judging bet- 
ter than others consists in a sort of conscious pride and 
superiority, which arises from thinking rightly ; but, 
then, this is an indirect pleasure ; a pleasure which 
does not immediately result from the object which is 
under contemplation. In the morning of our days, 
when the senses are unworn and tender, w^hen the 
whole man is awake in every part, and the gloss of 
novelty fresh upon all the objects that surround us, 
how lively at that time are our sensations, but how 
false and inaccurate the judgments we form of things ! 
I despair of ever receiving the same degree of pleas- 
ure, from the most excellent performances of genius, 
which I felt at that age from pieces which my present 
judgment regards as trifling and contemptible. Every 
trivial cause of pleasure is apt to affect the man of too 
sanguine a complexion : his appetite is too keen to suf- 
fer his taste to be delicate ; and he is, in all respects, 
what Ovid says of himself in love : 



How is the judgment for the gi-eater part employed? What is the nature 
of the pleasure that arises from superiority of judgment? At what period 
are our sensations most lively ? What is said of the judgment we then 
form of things? How is this illustrated from our author's experience ? 

D 



38 INTRODUCTION. 

<*Molle meum levibus cor est violabile telis, 

Et semper causa est, cur ego semper amem." 
" My tender heart is violable by light weapons, and there is always a 
cause why I should be always in love." 

One of this character can never be a refined juage ; 
never what the comic poet calls elegans formarum 
spectator. The excellence and force of a composition 
must always be imperfectly estimated from its effect 
on the minds of any, except we know the temper and 
character of those minds. The most powerful effects 
of poetry and music have been displayed, and perhaps 
are still displayed, where these arts are but in a very 
low and imperfect state. The rude hearer is affected 
by the principles which operate in these arts, even in 
their rudest condition, and he is not skillful enough to 
perceive the defects. But, as arts advance toward j 
their perfection, the science of criticism advances with 
equal pace, and the pleasure of judges is frequently in- 
terrupted by the faults which are discovered in the 
most finished compositions. 

Before I leave this subject, I can not help taking no- 
tice of an opinion which many persons entertain, as if 
the taste were a separate faculty of the mind, and dis- 
tinct from the judgment and imagination ; a species of 
instinct by which we are struck naturally, and at the 
first glance, without any previous reasoning, with the 
excellences or the defects of a composition. So far 
as the imagination and the passions are concerned, I 
believe it true that the reason is little consulted ; but 
where disposition, where decorum, where congruity are 
concerned, in short, wherever the best taste differs 

Why can not a man whose mind is of too sanguine a complexion be a re- 
fined judge ? Where have the most powerful effects of poetry and music 
been displayed? As arts and criticism advance, how is the pleasure of 
judges frequently interrupted ? Of what opinion does our author take no- 
tice before he leaves this subject? What does he remark on this opinion? 



ON TASTE. 39 

from the worst, I am convinced that the understanding 
operates, and nothing else ; and its operation is, in re- 
ahty, far from being always sudden, or, when it is sud- 
den, it is often far from being right, f Men of the best 
taste by consideration come frequently to change these 
early and precipitate judgments, which the mind, from 
its aversion to neutrality and doubt, loves to form on 
the spot. It is known that the taste, whatever it is, is 
improved exactly as we improve our judgment, by ex- 
tending our knowledge, by a steady attention to our 
object, and by frequent exercise. They who have 
not taken these methods, if their taste decides quickly, 
it is always uncertainly ; and their quickness is owing 
to their presumption and rashness, and not any hidden 
irradiation, that in a moment dispels all darkness from 
their minds. But they who have cultivated that spe- 
cies of knowledge which makes the object of taste, by 
degrees and habitually attain, not only a soundness, 
but a readiness of judgment, as men do by the same 
methods on all other occasions. At first they are obli- 
ged to spell, but at last they read with ease and with 
celerity ; but this celerity of its operation is no proof 
that the taste is a distinct faculty. Nobody, I believe, 
has attended the course of a discussion which turned 
upon matters within the sphere of mere naked reason, 
but must have observed the extreme readiness with 
which the whole process of the argument is carried on, 
the grounds discovered, the objections raised and an- 
swered, and the conclusions drawn from premises, with 
a quickness altogether as great as the taste can be sup- 
In what proportion is it known that the taste is improved ? What is ob- 
served of persons who have not taken these methods, and of those who 
have ? What must every man have observed who has attended the course 
of a discussion which turned upon matters within the sphere of reason 
alone ? 



40 INTRODUCTION. 

posed to employ, and yet where nothing but plain rea- 
son either is or can be suspected to operate. To mul- 
tiply principles for every different appearance is use- 
less, and unphilosophical, too, in a high degree. 

This matter might be pursued much farther ; but it 
is not the extent of the subject which must prescribe 
our bounds ; for what subject does not branch out to 
infinity ? it is the nature of our particular scheme, and 
the single point of view in which we consider it, which 
ought to put a stop to our researches. 

Why is not this subject pursued still farther? 



PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY, ETC. 



PART I. 
SECTION L 



NOVELTY. 

The first and the simplest emotion which we discov- 
er in the human mind is Curiosity. By curiosity I 
mean whatever desire we have for, or whatever pleas- 
ure we take in, novelty. We see children perpetually 
running from place to place, to hunt out something 
new : they catch with great eagerness, and with very 
little choice, at whatever comes before them : their at- 
tention is engaged by every thing, because every thing 
has, in that stage of life, the charm of novelty to rec- 
ommend it. But as those things which engage us 
merely by their novelty can not attach us for any 
length of time, curiosity is the most superficial of all 
the affections : it changes its object perpetually : it has 
an appetite which is very sharp, but very easily satis- 
fied ; and it has always an appearance of giddiness, 
restlessness, and anxiety. Curiosity, from its nature, 
is a very active principle : it quickly runs over the 
greatest part of its objects, and soon exhausts the vari- 

What is the first and simplest emotion which we discover in the human 
mind ? What is meant by it ? How is it perceived in children ? Why is 
curiosity the most superficial of all the affections ? What evidence have 
we that it is a very active principle ? 

J)2 



42 ON THE SUBLIME 

ety which is commonly to be met with m nature ; the 
same things make frequent returns, and they return 
with less and less of any agreeable effect. In short, 
the occurrences of life, by the time we come to know 
it a little, would be incapable of affecting the mind wit'h 
any other sensations than those of loathing and weari- 
ness, if many things were not adapted to affect the 
mind by means of other powers besides novelty in 
them, and of other passions besides curiosity in our- 
selves. These powers and passions shall be consider- 
ed in their place. But whatever these powers are, or 
upon what principle soever they affect the mind, it is 
absolutely necessary that they should not be exerted 
in those things which a daily vulgar use has brought 
into a stale, unaffecting famiharity. Some degree of 
novelty must be one of the materials in every instru- 
ment which works upon the mind ; and curiosity blends 
itself more or less with all our passions. 



SECTION II. 

PAIN AND PLEASURE. 

It seems, then, necessary, toward moving the pas- 
sions of people advanced in life to any considerable 
degree, that the objects designed for that purpose, be- 
sides being in some measure new, should be capable 
of exciting pain or pleasure from other causes. Pain 
and pleasure are simple ideas, incapable of definition. 

Under what circumstances would the occurrences of life be incapable of 
affecting the mind with any other sensations than those of loathing and 
weariness ? In what things should these powers not be exerted, and why ? 
What seems necessary toward moving the passions of people advanced 
in life ? What are pain and pleasure ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 43 

People are not liable to be mistaken in their feelings, 
but they are very frequently wrong in the names they 
give them, and in their reasonings about them. Many 
are of opinion that pain arises necessarily from the re- 
moval of some pleasure, as they think pleasure does 
from the ceasing or diminution of some pain. For my 
part, I am rather inclined to imagine that pain and 
pleasure, in their most simple and natural manner of 
affecting, are each of a positive nature, and by no 
means necessarily dependent on each other for their 
existence. The human mind is often, and I think it is 
for the most part, in a state neither of pain nor pleas- 
ure, which I call a state of indifference. When I am 
carried from this state into a state of actual pleasure, 
it does not appear necessary that I should pass through 
the medium of any sort of pain. If, in such a state of 
indifference, or ease, or tranquillity, or call it what you 
please, you were to be suddenly entertained with a 
concert of music ; or suppose some object of a fine 
shape and bright, lively colors to be represented be- 
fore you ; or imagine your smell is gratified with the 
fragrance of a rose ; or if, without any previous thirst, 
you were to drink of some pleasant kind of wine, or to 
taste of some sweatmeat without being hungry — in all 
the several senses of hearing, smelling, and tasting, you 
undoubtedly find a pleasure : yet, if I inquire into the 
state of your mind previous to these gratifications, you 
will hardly tell me that they found you in any kind of 
pain ; or, having satisfied these several senses with 

About what are people liable to be mistaken ? From what are many of 
opinion that pain arises ? To what opinion does our author incline? For 
the most part, in what state is the human mind ? and what is that state 
called ? How can you illustrate that it is not necessary for the mind to be 
carried through any medium of pain in its passage from a statt of indiffer- 
ence to that of actual pleasure or actual pain "^ 



44 ON THE SUBLIME 

their several pleasures, will you say that any pain has 
succeeded, though the pleasure is absolutely over? 
Suppose, on the other hand, a man in the same state 
of indifference to receive a violent blow, or to drink of 
some bitter potion, or to have his ears wounded with 
some harsh and grating sound : here is no removal of 
pleasure ; and yet here is felt, in every sense which is 
affected, a pain very distinguishable. It may be said, 
perhaps, that the pain, in these cases, had its rise from 
the removal of the pleasure which the man enjoyed 
before, though that pleasure was of so low a degree 
as to be perceived only by the removal. But this 
seems to me a subtlety that is not discoverable in na- 
ture. For if, previous to the pain, I do not feel any 
actual pleasure, I have no reason to judge that any 
such thing exists, since pleasure is only pleasure as it 
is felt. The same may be said of pain, and with equal 
reason. I can never persuade myself that pleasure 
and pain are mere relations, which can only exist as 
they are contrasted ; but I think I can discern clearly 
that there are positive pains and pleasures, which do 
not at all depend upon each other. Nothing is more 
certain to my own feelings than this. There is noth- 
ing which I can distinguish in my mind with more 
clearness than the three states of indifference, of pleas- 
ure, and of pain. Every one of these I can perceive 
without any sort of idea of its relation to any thing else. 
Caius is afflicted with a fit of the colic ; this man is ac- 
tually in pain : stretch Caius upon the rack, he will feel 
*a much greater pain : but does this pain of the rack 



How does it appear to be not true that the pain, in these cases, arose from 
the removal of the pleasure which the man enjoyed before ? How does it 
appear that pleasure and pain are not mere relations ? What illustration 
is given ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 45 

arise from the removal of any pleasure ? or is the fit 
of the colic a pleasure or a pain just as we are pleased 
to consider it ? 



SECTION III. 

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE REMOVAL OF PAIN AND 
POSITIVE PLEASURE. 

We shall carry this proposition yet a step farther. 
We shall venture to propose that pain and pleasure are 
not only not necessarily dependent for their existence 
on their mutual diminution or removal, but that, in re- 
ality, the diminution or ceasing of pleasure does not 
operate like positive pain ; and that the removal or 
diminution of pain, in its effect, has very little resem- 
blance to positive pleasure.* The former of these 
propositions will, I believe, be much more readily al- 
lowed than the latter ; because it is very evident that 
pleasure, when it has run its career, sets us down very 
nearly where it found us. Pleasure of every kind 
quickly satisfies ; and when it is over, we relapse into 
indifference, or, rather, we fall into a soft tranquillity, 
which is tinged with the agreeable color of the former 
sensation. I own it is not, at first view, so apparent 
that the removal of a great pain does not resemble 
positive pleasure ; but let us recollect in what state we 

In carrying this proposition still farther, what does our author venture to 
propose? Why will the former of these propositions be more readily al- 
lowed than the latter ? When pleasure of every kind is over, mto what state 
do we relapse ? 

* Mr. Locke [Essay on Human Understanding, 1. ii., c. 20, sect. 16] 
thinks that the removal or lessening of a pain is considered and operates as 
a pleasure, and the loss or diminishing of pleasure is a pain. It is this opin- 
ion which we consider here. 



46 ON THE SUBLIME 

have found our minds upon escaping some imminent 
danger, or on being released from the severity of some 
cruel pain. We have on such occasions found, if I am 
not much mistaken, the temper of our minds in a tenor 
very remote from that which attends the presence of 
positive pleasure ; v^^e have found them in a state of 
much sobriety, impressed with a sense of awe, in a sort 
of tranquillity shadowed with horror. The fashion of 
the countenance, and the gesture of the body, on such 
occasions, are so correspondent to this state of the mind, 
that any person, a stranger to the cause of the appear- 
ance, would rather judge us under some consternation 
than in the enjoyment of any thing Uke positive pleas- 
ure. 

'flf d' orav avdp' uttj ttvkivtj /Idfijj, oor' kvl Tcdrpij 
^ura KaraKTeivaq, aAXwv k^lKero dTJjuov, 
'Avdpb^ ff d(pveiov, ■&u.ix6og 6' kx^i eiaopouvrag. 

HoM., Iliad, xxiv., 1. 480. 

" As when a wretch, who, conscious of his crime, 
Pursued for murder from his native clime. 
Just gains some frontier, breathless, pale, amazed, 
All gaze, all wonder !" 

This striking appearance of the man whom Homer 
supposes to have just escaped an imminent danger, the 
sort of mixed passion of terror and surprise with which 
he affects the spectators, paints very strongly the man- 
ner in which we find ourselves affected upon occasions 
any way sinular; for when we have suffered from any 
violent^motion, the mind naturally continues in some- 
thing like the same condition, after the cause which 
first produced it has ceased to operate. The tossing 

How may it be made to appear ttat the removal of a great pain does not 
resemble positive pleasure ? Give the example from Homer. What does 
this striking appearance of the man whom Homer supposes to have just es- 
caped an imminent danger very strongly paint ? and why ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 47 

of the sea remains after the storm ; and when this re- 
main of horror has entirely subsided, all the passion 
which the accident raised subsides along with it, and 
the mind returns to its usual state of indifference. In 
short, pleasure (I mean any thing either in the inward 
sensation, or in the outward appearance, like pleasure 
from a positive cause) has never, I imagine, its origin 
from the removal of pain or danger. 



SECTION IV. 

OP DELIGHT AND PLEASURE, AS OPPOSED TO EACH OTHER. 

But shall we, therefore, say that the removal of pain, 
or its diminution, is always simply painful ? or affirm 
that the cessation or the lessening of pleasure is always 
attended itself with the pleasure ? By no means. 
What I advance is no more than this : first, that there 
are pleasures and pains of a positive and independent 
nature; and, secondly, that the feeling which results 
from the ceasing or diminution of pain does not bear a 
sufficient resemblance to positive pleasure to have it 
considered as of the same nature, or to entitle it to be 
known by the same name ; and, thirdly, that, upon the 
same principle, the removal or qualification of pleasure 
has no resemblance to positive pain. It is certain that 
the former feeling (the removal or moderation of pain) 
has something in it far from distressing or disagreeable 
in its nature. This feeling, in many cases so agreea- 
ble, but in all so diflferent from positive pleasure, has 

How is this farther illustrated ? From what has pleasure never its ori- 
gin? 

What are the three things here advanced ? How does it appear that the 
removal or moderation of pain is far from distressing us, or of being disa- 
greeable in its nature ? 



48 ON THE SUBLIME 

no name which I know ; but that hinders not its being 
a very real one, and very different from all others. It 
is most certain that every species of satisfaction or 
pleasure, how different soever in its manner of affect- 
ing, is of a positive nature in the mind of him who feels 
it. The affection is undoubtedly positive ; but the 
cause may be, as in this case it certainly is, a sort of 
privation. And it is very reasonable that we should 
distinguish, by some term, two things so distinct in na- 
ture, as a pleasure that is such simply, and without any 
relation, from that pleasure which can not exist with- 
out a relation, and that, too, a relation to pain. Very 
extraordinary it would be, if these affections, so distin- 
guishable in their cause, so different in their effects, 
should be confounded with each other, because vulgar 
use has ranged them under the same general title. 
Whenever I have occasion to speak of this species of 
relative pleasure, I call it delight; and I shall take the 
best care I can to use that word in no other sense. I 
am satisfied the word is not commonly used in this ap- 
propriated signification ; but I thought it better to take 
up a word already known, and to limit its signification, 
than to introduce a new one, which would not, per- 
haps, incorporate so well with the language. I should 
never have presumed the least alteration in our words, 
if the nature of the language, framed for the purposes 
of business rather than those of philosophy, and the na- 
ture of my subject, that leads me out of the common 
track of discourse, did not, in a manner, necessitate me 
to it. I shall- make use of this liberty with all possible 

What two things should be distinguished 1 What would be very extraor- 
dinary 1 What does our author call this species of relative pleasure ? and 
why ? Under what circumstances would he not have presumed this alter- 
ation? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 49 

caution. As I make use of the word delight to express 
the sensation which accompanies the removal of pain 
or danger, so, when I speak of positive pleasure, I shall 
for the most part call it simply pleasure. 



SECTION V. 

JOY AND GRIEF. 

It must be observed, that the cessation of pleasure 
affects the mind in three ways. If it simply ceases af- 
ter having continued a proper time, the effect is indif- 
ference; if it be abruptly broken off, there ensues an 
uneasy sense called disappointment ; if the object be 
so totally lost that there is no chance of enjoying it 
again, a passion arises in the mind which is called grief. 
Now there is none of these, not even grief, which is 
the most violent, that I think has any resemblance to 
positive pain. The person who grieves, suffers his 
passion to grow upon him ; he indulges it, he loves it ; 
but this never happens in the case of actual pain, which 
no man ever willingly endured for any considerable 
time. That grief should be willingly endured, though 
far from a simply pleasing sensation, is not so difficult 
to be understood. It is the nature of grief to keep its 
object perpetually in its eye, to present it in its most 
pleasurable views, to repeat all the circumstances that 
attend it, even to the last minuteness ; to go back to 
every particular enjoyment, to dwell upon each, and 
to find a thousand new perfections in all, that were not 
sufficiently understood before ; in grief, the pleasure is 

What distinction is to be observed between the words delight and pleas- 
ure? 

In what three ways does the cessation of pleasure affect the mind? 
What difference is there between grief and pain? Why is it not difficult 
to understand how grief is willingly endured ? 

E 



50 ON THE SUBLIME 

still uppermost ; and the affliction we suffer has no re- 
semblance to absolute pain, which is always odious, 
and which we endeavor to shake off as soon as pos- 
sible. The Odyssey of Homer, which abounds with 
so many natural and affecting images, has none more 
striking than those which Menelaus raises of the ca- 
lamitous fate of his friends, and his own manner of 
feeling it. He owns, indeed, that he often gives him- 
self some intermission from such melancholy reflec- 
tions ; but he observes, too, that, melancholy as they 
are, they give him pleasure, 

'AA/l' efiivTjg irdvTag uev bdupd/xevog Kal axevuv^ 
Ho/lAu/cif ev [j,eydpoiat Kadi]fj,tvoq yfitripotaLV^ 
'AAAore fiiv ti yoi^ (f>pei>a Tiprro^aL, uTJiore d-' aire 
Uavo/iiaL . aliprjpbg de Kdpog Kpvepolo yooio. 
*• Still, in short intervals of pi ea.iing wo, 

Regardful of the friendly dues I owe, 

I to the glorious dead, forever dear, 

Indulge the tribute of a grateful tear."— Hom., Od., iv., 1, 100. 

On the other hand, when we recover our health, 
when we escape an imminent danger, is it with joy 
that we are affected ? The sense, on these occasions, 
is far from that smooth and voluptuous satisfaction 
which the assured prospect of pleasure bestows. The 
delight which arises from the modifications of pain 
confesses the stock from whence it sprung, in its solid, 
strong, and severe nature. 



SECTION VL 

OP THE PASSIONS WHICH BELONG TO SELF-PRESERVATION. 

Most of the ideas which are capable of making a 

What exannple of the nature of grief is given from Homer's Odyssey ? Re- 
cite it. When are we affected with joy T What is said of the sensation on 
these occasions ? What is said of the delight which arises from the modi- 
fications of pain. 



anjd beautiful. 61 

powerful impression on the mind, whether simply of 
pain or pleasure, or of the modifications of those, may 
be reduced very nearly to these two heads, self-pres- 
ervation and society ; to the ends of one or the other 
of which all our passions are calculated to answer. 
The passions which concern self-preservation turn 
mostly on pain or danger. The ideas of pain, sickness, 
and death, fill the mind with strong emotions of horror ; 
but life and health, though they put us in a capacity of 
being affected with pleasure, they make no such im- 
pression by the simple enjoyment. The passions, there- 
fore, which are conversant about the preservation of 
the individual, turn chiefly on pain and danger, and 
they are the most powerful of all the passions. 



SECTION VII. 

OF THE SUBLIME. 

Whatever is fitted in any sort to excite the ideas 
of pain and danger ; that is to say, whatever is in any 
sort terrible, or is conversant about terrible objects, or 
operates in a manner analogous to terror, is a source 
of the sublime ; that is, it is productive of the strongest 
emotion which the mind is capable of feeling. I say 
the strongest emotion, because I am satisfied that the 
ideas of pain are much more powerful than those which 
enter on the part of pleasure. Without doubt, the tor- 

To what two heads may most of the ideas which are capable of making 
an impression on the mind be reduced ? On what do the passions which 
concern self-preservation turn ? What ideas fill the mind with strong emo- 
tions of horror ? What is said of life and health ? Which are the passions, 
therefore, that are conversant about the preservation of the individual? and 
what is said of them 1 

What is a source of the sublime ? and why ? Why does our author con- 
sider it the strongest emotion that the mind is capable of feeling ? 



6^ ON THE SUBLlMfi 

ments which we may be made to suffer are much great- 
er in their effect on the body and mind than any pleas- 
ures which the most learned voluptuary could suggest, 
or than the liveliest imagination, and the most sound 
and exquisitely sensible body, could enjoy. Nay, I am 
in great doubt whether any man could be found who 
would earn a life of the most perfect satisfaction, at the 
price of ending it in the torments which justice inflict- 
ed in a few hours on the late unfortunate regicide in 
France. But, as pain is stronger in its operation than 
pleasure, so death is, in general, a much more affecting 
idea than pain ; because there are very few pains, how- 
ever exquisite, which are not preferred to death ; nay, 
what generally makes pain itself, if I may say so, more 
painful, is, that it is considered as an emissary of this 
king of terrors. When danger or pain presses too 
nearly, it is incapable of giving any delight, and is sim- 
ply terrible ; but at certain distances, and with certain 
modifications, it may be, and it is delightful, as we every 
day experience. The cause of this I shall endeavor to 
investigate hereafter. 



SECTION VIII. 

OF THE PASSIONS WHICH BELONG TO SOCIETY. 

The other head under which I class our passions is 
that of society, which may be divided into two sorts : 
1. The society of the sexes ; and, 2. That more general 

How is this illustrated ? What example is given ? Why may death be con- 
sidered a much more affecting idea than pain ? What is it that makes pain 
itself, if possible, more painful ? What is remarked of danger or pain when 
it presses too nearly ? and when it is at a distance ? 

What is the other head under which our passions are classed? and how 
may it be divided ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 63 

society which we have with men and with other ani- 
mals, and which we may in some sort be said to have 
even with the inanimate world. The passions which 
belong to the preservation of the individual turn whol- 
ly on pain and danger : those which belong to the so- 
ciety of the sexes have their origin in gratifications 
and pleasures. When men describe in what manner 
they are affected by pain and danger, they do not dwell 
on the pleasure of health and the comfort of security, 
and then lament the loss of these satisfactions : the 
whole turns upon the actual pains and horrors which 
they endure. But if you listen to the complaints of a 
forsaken lover, you observe that he insists largely on 
the pleasures which he enjoyed, or hoped to enjoy, and 
on the perfection of the object of his desires : it is the 
loss which is always uppermost in his mind. The vi- 
olent effects produced by love, which has sometimes 
been even wrought up to madness, is no objection to 
the rule which we seek to estabHsh. When men have 
suffered their imaginations to be long affected with any 
idea, it so wholly engrosses them as to shut out, by de- 
grees, almost every other, and to break down every 
partition of the mind which would confine it. Any 
idea is sufficient for the purpose, as is evident from the 
infinite variety of causes which give rise to madness ; 
but this, at most, can only prove that the passion of 
love is capable of producing very extraordinary ef- 
fects, not that its extraordinary emotions have any con- 
nection with positive pain. 

On what do the passions turn which belong to the preservation of the in- 
dividual ? In what have those their origin which belong to the society of 
the sexes ? How do men describe the manner in which they are affected 
by pain and danger ? In listening to the complaints of a forsaken lover, 
what do we observe ? What is no objection to the rule which we seek to 
establish ? How is this illustrated ? How does it appear evident that any 
idea is sufficient for this purpose ? and what only does this prove ? 

E3 



54 ON THE SUBLIME 

SECTION IX. 

OF BEAUTY. 

Mr. Addison supposes that the preference given by 
brutes to their own species arises from some sense of 
beauty which they found in them ; but I imagine that ' 
it arises from a law of some other kind, to which they 
are subject ; and this we may fairly conclude from 
their apparent want of choice among those objects to 
which the barriers of their own species have confined 
them. But man, who is a creature adapted to a great- 
er variety and intricacy of relation, connects with the 
general passion the idea of some social qualities, which 
direct and heighten the appetite which he has in com- 
mon with all other animals ; and as he is not design- 
ed, like them, to live at large, it is fit that he should 
have something to create a preference, and fix his 
choice ; and this, in general, should be some sensible 
quality, as no other can so quickly, so powerfully, or 
so surely, produce its effect. The object, therefore, of 
this mixed passion, which we call love, is the heauty 
of the sex. Men are attached to the sex in general, 
as it is the sex, and by the common law of nature ; but 
they are attached to particulars by personal heauty, 
I call beauty a social quality ; for where men and wom- 
en, and not only they, but when other animals give us 
a sense of joy and pleasure in beholding them (and 

From what does Mr. Addison suppose the preference to arise which is 
given by brutes to their own species ? How does it appear evident that it ari- 
ses from a law of some other kind ? With the general passion what does 
man connect? Why should he have something to create a preference? Why 
should this be some sensible quality? What is this mixed passion called, 
and what is its object ? By what law are men attached to the sex in gen- 
eral ? By what are they attached to particular individuals ? Why do we 
call this social quality beauty ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 55 

there are many that do so), they inspire us with senti- 
ments of tenderness and affection toward their persons ; 
we like to have them near us, and we enter wilHngly 
into a kind of relation with them, unless we should have 
strong reasons to the contrary. But to what end, in 
many cases, this was designed, I am unable to discov- 
er; for I see no greater reason for a connection be- 
tween man and several animals who are attired in so 
engaging a manner, than between him and some others 
who entirely want this attraction, or possess it in a far 
weaker degree. But it is probable that Providence did 
not make even this distinction, but with a view to some 
great end, though we can not perceive distinctly what 
it is, as his wisdom is not our wisdom, nor our ways 
his ways. 



SECTION X. 

SOCIETY AND SOLITUDE. 

The second branch of the social passions is that 
-which administers to society in general. With regard 
to this, I observe, that society, merely as society, with- 
out any particular heightenings, gives to us no positive 
pleasure in the enjoyment ; but absolute and entire sol- 
itude, that is, the total and perpetual exclusion from all 
society, is as great a positive pain as can almost be 
conceived. Therefore, in the balance between the 
pleasure of general society and the pain of absolute 
solitude, pain is the predominant idea. But the pleas- 

Why are we not able to discover to what end this was designed ? For 
what end is it probable that Providence made this distinction? 

What is the second branch of the social passions ? With regard to this 
what is observed ? What, therefore, is the predominant idea in the balance 
between the pleasure of general society and the pam of absolute solitude ? 



56 ON THE SUBLIME 

ure of any particular social enjoyment outweighs very 
considerably tKe uneasiness caused by the want of that 
particular enjoyment ; so that the strongest sensations, 
relative to the habitudes oi particular society, are sen- 
sations of pleasure. Good company, lively conversa- 
tion, and the endearments of friendship, fill the mind 
with great pleasure ; a temporary solitude, on the oth- 
er hand, is itself agreeable. This may, perhaps, prove 
that we are creatures designed for contemplation as 
well as action ; since solitude as well as society has its 
pleasures ; as, from the former observation, w^e may 
discern that an entire life of solitude contradicts the 
purposes of our being, since death itself is scarcely an 
idea of more terror. 



SECTION XL 

SYMPATHY, IMITATION, AND AMBITION. 

Under this denomination of society the passions are 
of a complicated kind, and branch out into a variety 
of forms agreeable to that variety of ends which they 
are to serve in the great chain of society. The thre^ 
principal links in this chain are sympathy, imitation, 
and ambition. 



SECTION XII. 

SYMPATHY. 

It is by the first of these passions that we enter into 

Why are the sensations of pleasure the strongest sensations relative to the 
habitudes of particular society ? What is the effect of good company, live- 
ly conversation, and the endearments of friendship? And of a temporary 
solitude ? What may this prove, and why ? 

Under this denomination of society, what is remarked of the passion? ? 
What are the three principal links of this chain T 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 57 

the concerns of others ; that we are moved as they are 
moved, and are never suffered to be indifferent spec- 
tators of any thing which men can do or suffer. For 
sympathy must be considered as a sort of substitution, 
by which we are put into the place of another man, 
and affected, in many respects, as he is affected : so 
that this passion may either partake of the nature of 
those which regard self-preservation, and, turning upon 
pain, may be a source of the subUme ; or it may turn 
upon ideas of pleasure ; and then, whatever has been 
said of the social affections, whether they regard soci- 
ety in general, or only some particular modes of it, 
may be appHcable here. It is by this principle chiefly 
that poetry, painting, and other affecting arts transfuse 
their passions from one breast to another, and are often 
capable of grafting a delight on wretchedness, misery, 
and death itself It is a common observation, that ob- 
jects which in the reality would shock, are in tragical, 
and such like representations, the source of a very high 
species of pleasure. This, taken as a fact, has been 
the cause of much reasoning. The satisfaction has 
been commonly attributed, first, to the comfort we re- 
ceive in considering that so melancholy a story is no 
more than a fiction ; and, next, to the contemplation 
of our own freedom from the evils which we see rep- 
resented. I am afraid it is a practice much too com- 
mon in inquiries of this nature, to attribute the cause 
of feelings which merely arise from the mechanical 
structure of our bodies, or from the natural frame and 

What is the influence of sympathy, and why ? Of what may this passion 
partake ? By this principle, what influence have poetry, painting, and other 
affecting arts ? What common observation is here noticed ? Of what has 
tliis been the cause ? To what has the satisfaction commonly been attrib- 
uted? What practice is much too common in inquiries of this nature^ 
and why ? 



58 ON THE SUBLIME 

constitution of our minds, to certain conclusions of the 
reasoning faculty on the objects presented to us ; for I 
should imagine that the influence of reason, in produ- 
cing our passions, is not near so extensive as it is com- 
monly believed. 



SECTION XIII. 

THE EFFECTS OF SYMPATHY IN THE DISTRESSES OF 
OTHERS. 

To examine this point concerning the effect of trag- 
edy in a proper manner, we must previously consider 
how we are affected by the feelings of our fellow-crea- 
tures in circumstances of real distress. I am convin- 
ced we have a degree of delight, and that no small one, 
in the real misfortunes and pains of others : for, let the 
affection be what it will in appearance, if it does not 
make us shun some objects, if, on the contrary, it in- 
duces us to approach them, if it makes us dwell upon 
them, in this case I conceive we must have a delight 
or pleasure of some species or other in contemplating 
objects of this kind. Do we not read the authentic 
histories of scenes of this nature with as much pleasure 
as romances or poems, where the incidents are ficti- 
tious ? The prosperity of no empire, nor the grandeur 
of any king, can so agreeably affect in the reading, as 
the rum of the state of Macedon, and the distress of its 
unhappy prince. Such a catastrophe touches us in 
history as much as the destruction of Troy does in fa- 
ble. Our delight, in cases of this kind, is very greatly 

To examine this point concerning the effect of tragedy in a proper man- 
ner, what must we previously consider ? Of what is our author convin- 
ced, and why ? How is this illustrated ? By what is our delight, in ca- 
ses of this kind, very greatly heightened ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 59 

heightened, if the sufferer be some excellent person 
who sinks under an unworthy fortune. Scipio and 
Cato are both virtuous characters ; but we are more 
deeply affected by the violent death of the one, and the 
ruin of the great cause to which he adhered, than with 
the deserved triumphs and uninterrupted prosperity of 
the other ; for terror is a passion which always produ- 
ces delight when it does not press too closely ; and 
pity is a passion accompanied with pleasure, because 
it arises from love and social affection. Whenever we 
are formed by nature to any active purpose, the pas- 
sion which animates us to it is attended with delight, 
or a pleasure of some kind, let the subject-matter be 
what it will ; and as our Creator has designed we should 
be united by the bond of sympathy, he has strengthen- 
ed that bond by a proportionable delight ; and there 
most where our sympathy is most wanted, in the dis- 
tresses of others. If this passion were simply painful, 
we would shun with the greatest care all persons and 
places that could excite such a passion ; as some, who 
are so far gone in indolence as not to endure any strong 
impression, actually do. But the case is widely differ- 
ent with the greater part of mankind ; there is no spec- 
tacle we so eagerly pursue as that of some uncommon 
and grievous calamity ; so that, whether the misfor- 
tune is before our eyes, or whether they are turned 
back to it in history, it always touches with delight. 
This is not an unmixed delight, but blended with no 

What examples are given? When does terror produce delight? and why- 
is pity accompanied with pleasure ? Whenever we are formed by nature 
for any active purpose, with what is the passion which animates us to it 
attended? As our Creator has designed we should be united by the bond 
of sympathy, how has he strengthened that bond? and where most? If 
this passion were simply painful, how would it alTect us ? What spectacle 
do we most eagerly pursue ? How are we affected, whether the spectacle 
is present or past ? With what is thk delight blended ? 



60 ON THE SUBLIME 

small uneasiness. The delight we have in such things 
hinders us from shunning scenes of misery ; and the 
pain we feel prompts us to relieve ourselves in reliev- 
ing those who suffer ; and all this antecedent to any 
reasoning, by an instinct that works us to its own pur- 
poses without our concurrence. 



SECTION XIV. 

OF THE EFFECTS OF TRAGEDY. 

It is thus in real calamities. In imitated distresses, 
the only difference is the pleasure resulting from the 
effects of imitation ; for it is never so perfect but we 
can perceive it is imitation, and on that principle are 
somewhat pleased with it. And, indeed, in some ca- 
ses we derive as much or more pleasure from that 
source than from the thing itself But then, I imagine, 
we shall be much mistaken if we attribute any consid- 
erable part of our satisfaction in tragedy to the consid- 
eration that tragedy is a deceit, and its representations 
no realities. The nearer it approaches the reality, and 
the farther it removes us from all idea of fiction, the 
more perfect is its power. But be its power of what 
kind it may, it never approaches to what it represents. 
Choose a day on which to represent the most sublime 
and affecting tragedy we have ; appoint the most fa- 
Why does the dehght we have in such things hinder us from shunning 
scenes of misery ? 

What is the difference, in their effect, between real calamities and imita 
ted distresses ? and why ? What degree of pleasure do we, in some cases, 
derive from that source ? Why shall we be much mistaken if we attribute 
any considerable part of our satisfaction in tragedy to the consideration that 
tragedy is a deceit, and its representations no realities ? How is the remark 
illustrated, that, be its power what it may, it never approaches to what it 
represents ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL, 61 

vorite actors ; spare no cost upon the scenes and dec- 
orations ; unite the greatest efforts of poetry, painting, 
and music ; and when you have collected your audi- 
ence, just at the moment when their minds are erect 
with expectation, let it be reported that a state crimi- 
nal of high rank is on the point of being executed in 
the adjoining square ; in a moment the emptiness of 
the theatre would demonstrate the comparative weak- 
ness of the imitative arts, and proclaim the triumph of 
the real sympathy. I believe that this notion of our 
having a simple pain in the reality, yet a delight in the 
representation, arises from hence — that we do not suf- 
ficiently distinguish what we would by no means 
choose to do from what we would be eager enough 
to see if it were once done. We delight in seeing 
things which, so far from doing, our heartiest wishes 
would be to see redressed. This noble capital, the 
pride of England and of Europe, I believe no man is 
so strangely wicked as to desire to see destroyed by a 
conflagration or an earthquake, though he should be 
removed himself to the greatest distance from the dan- 
ger. But suppose such a fatal accident to have hap- 
pened, what numbers from all parts would crowd to 
behold the ruins, and among them many who would 
have been content never to have seen London in its 
glory ! Nor is it, in either real or fictitious distresses, 
our immunity from them which produces our delight ; 
in my own mind I can discover nothing like it. I ap- 
prehend that this mistake is owing to a sort of sophism 
by which we are frequently imposed upon ; it arises 



From what does the notion that we have a simple pain in the reality, and 
yet a delight in the representation, arise ? In seeing what things do we de- 
light? How is this illustrated? What can not our author in his own mind 
discover? To what sort of a sophism is this mistake owing ■? 

F 



62 ON THE SUBLIME 

from our not distinguishing between what is indeed a 
necessary condition to our doing or suffering any thing 
in general, and what is the cause of some particular 
act. If a man kills me with a sword, it is a necessary 
condition to this that we should have been both of us 
alive before the fact ; and yet it would be absurd to 
say that our being both living creatures was the cause 
of his crime and of my death. So it is certain, that it 
is absolutely necessary my life should be out of any 
imminent hazard before I can take a delight in the suf- 
ferings of others, real or imaginary, or, indeed, in any 
thing else, from any cause whatsoever. But then it is 
a sophism to argue from thence that this immunity is 
the cause of my delight either on these or on any oc- 
casions. No one can distinguish such a cause of sat- 
isfaction in his own mind, I believe ; nay, when we do 
not suffer any very acute pain, nor are exposed to any 
imminent danger of our lives, we can feel for others 
while we suffer ourselves ; and often, then, most when 
w^e are softened by affliction, we see with pity even 
distresses which we would accept in the place of our 
own. 



SECTION XV. 

IMITATION. 

The second passion which belongs to society is im- 
itation, or, if you will, a desire of imitating, and, con- 
How is this illustrated? What follows? What argument from thence 
would be a sophism ? When can we feel for others while we suffer our- 
selves ? When do we see with pity even distresses which we would ac- 
cept in the place of our own? 
What is the second passion that belongs to society T 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 63 

sequently, a pleasure in it. This passion arises from 
much the same cause with sympathy; for, as sympa- 
thy makes us take concern in whatever men feel, so 
this affection prompts us to copy whatever they do ; 
and, consequently, we have a pleasure in imitating, 
and in whatever belongs to imitation, merely as it is 
such, without any intervention of the reasoning facul- 
ty, but solely from our natural constitution, which Prov- 
idence has framed in such a manner as to find either 
pleasure or delight, according to the nature of the ob- 
ject, in whatever regards the purposes of our being. 
It is by imitation, far more than by precept, that we 
learn every thing ; and what we learn thus, we acquire 
not only more effectually, but more pleasantly. This 
forms our manners, our opinions, our lives. It is one 
of the strongest links of society ; it is a species of mu- 
tual compliance which all men yield to each other, 
without constraint to themselves, and which is extreme- 
ly flattering to all. Herein it is that painting, and many 
other agreeable arts, have laid one of the principal 
foundations of their power. And since, by its influ- 
ence on our manners and our passions, it is of so great 
consequence, I shall here venture to lay down a rule, 
which may inform us, with a good degree of certainty, 
when we are to attribute the power of the arts to im- 
itation, or to our pleasure in the skill of the imitator 
merely, and when to sympathy, or some other cause 
in conjunction with it. When the object represented 
in poetry or painting is such as we could have no de- 
How does it appear that this passion arises from much the same cause as 
sympathy ? What advantage has imitation over precept, in the acquisition 
of knowledge? What does it form? Why is it considered one of the 
strongest links of society ? What have laid one of the principal founda- 
tions of their power in it ? What rule does our author here lay down, and 
why ? Repeat it. 



64 ON THE SUBLIME 

sire of seeing in the reality, then I may be sure that its 
power in poetry or painting is owing to the power of 
imitation, and to no cause operating in the thing itself. 
So it is with most of the pieces which the painters call 
still-Ufe. In these, a cottage, a dunghill, the meanest 
and most ordinary utensils of the kitchen, are capable 
of giving us pleasure. But when the object of the 
painting or poem is such as we should run to see if 
real, let it affect us with what odd sort of sense it may, 
we may rely upon it that the power of the poem or 
picture is more owing to the nature of the thing itself, 
than to the mere effect of imitation, or to a considera- 
tion of the skill of the imitator, however excellent. 
Aristotle has spoken so much and so solidly upon the 
force of imitation in his Poetics, that it makes any far- 
■ ther discourse upon this subject the less necessary. 



SECTION XVI. 

AMBITION. 

Although imitation is one of the great instruments 
used by Providence in bringing our nature toward its 
perfection, yet if men gave themselves up to imitation 
entirely, and each followed the other, and so on in an 
eternal circle, it is easy to see that there never could 
be any improvement among them. Men must remain 
as brutes do, the same at the end that they are at this 
day, and that they were in the beginning of the world. 
To prevent this, God has planted in man a sense of 

What is it that makes any farther discourse on this subject unnecessa- 
ry? 

What would be the consequence if men gave themselves up entirely to 
imitation ? To prevent this, what sense has God planted in man ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL* 65 

ambition, and a satisfaction arising from the contem- 
plation of his excelling his fellows in something deem- 
ed valuable among them. It is this passion that drives 
men to all the ways we see in use of signalizing them- 
selves, and that tends to make whatever excites in a 
man the idea of this distinction so very pleasant. It 
has been so strong as to make very miserable men take 
comfort that they were supreme in misery ; and cer- 
tain it is, that where we can not distinguish ourselves 
by something excellent, we begin to take a complacen- 
cy in some singular infirmities, follies, or defects of one 
kind or other. It is on this principle that flattery is so 
prevalent ; for flattery is no more than what raises in 
a man's mind an idea of a preference which he has not. 
Now whatever, either upon good or upon bad grounds, 
tends to raise a man in his own opinion, produces a sort 
of swelling and triumph that is extremely grateful to 
the human mind ; and this swelling is never more per- 
ceived, nor operate^^x^ith more force, than when with- 
out danger we are conversant with terrible objects, 
the mind always claiming to itself some part of the 
dignity and importance of the things which it contem- 
plates. Hence proceeds what Longinus has observed 
of that glorying and sense of inward greatness, that al- 
ways fills the reader of such passages in poets and or- 
ators as are sublime ; it is what every man must have 
felt in himself upon such occasions. 

To what does this passion drive men? To what extent has it been carri- 
ed ? and what is certain ? On this principle, what is prevalent, and why? 
What is the effect of whatever tends to raise a man in his own opinion? 
When is it most perceived ? Hence what proceeds ? 

F2 



\ 



66 ON THE SUBLIME 



SECTION XVII. 

THE RECAPITULATION. 

To draw the whole of what has been said into a few 
distinct points : The passions which belong .to self- 
preservation turn on pain and danger ; they are sim- 
ply painful when their causes immediately affect us ; 
they are delightful when we have an idea of pain and 
danger, without being actually in such circumstances ; 
this delight I have not called pleasure, because it turns 
on pain, and because it is different enough from any 
idea of positive pleasure. Whatever excites this de- 
light, I call sublime. The passions which belong to 
self-preservation are the strongest of all the passions. 

The second head to which the passions are referred, 
with relation to their final cause, is society. There 
are two sorts of societies : The first is, the society of 
sex. The passion which belongs to this is called love, 
and its object is the beauty of women. The other is 
the great society with man and all other animals. The 
passions subservient to this is called, likewise, love, 
and its object is beauty, which is a name I shall apply 
to all such qualities in things as induce in us a sense 
of affection and tenderness, or some other passion the 
most nearly resembling these. The passion of love 
has its rise in positive pleasure; it is, like all things 
which grow out of pleasure, capable of being mixed 

When are the passions which belong to self-preservation simply painful? 
and when are they delightful? Why is not this delight called pleasure? 
What is whatever excites this delight called? Which are the strongest of 
all the passions? What is the second head to which the passions are re- 
ferred ? How many sorts of society are there ? What is the first ? What 
is the passion belonging to it called ? and what is its object ? What is the 
other sort of society ? What is the passion subservient to this called? and. 
what is its object ? How extensively is it applied ? In what has the pas- 
sion of love its rise ? and what is it like ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 67 

with a mode of uneasiness, that is, when an idea of its 
object is excited in the mind, with an idea, at the same 
time, of having irretrievably lost it. This mixed sense 
of pleasure I have not called pain, because it turns 
upon actual pleasure, and because it is, both in its 
cause and in most of its effects, of a nature altogether 
different. 

Next to the general passion we have for society, to 
a choice in which we are directed by the pleasure we 
have in the object, the particular passion under this 
head, called sympathy, has the greatest extent. The 
nature of this passion is, to put us in the place of an- 
other in whatever circumstance he is in, and to affect 
us in a like manner ; so that this passion may, as the 
occasion requires, turn either on pain or pleasure, but 
with the modifications mentioned in some cases in sec- 
tion X. As to imitation and preference, nothing more 
need be said. 



SECTION xvni. 

THE CONCLUSION. 

I BELIEVE that an attempt to range and methodize 
some of our most leading passions would be a good 
preparative to such an inquiry as we are going to make 
in the ensuing discourse. The passions which I have 
mentioned are almost the only ones that it can be ne- 

Why is not this mixed sense of pleasure called pain ? Next to the gener- 
al passion we have for society, what particular passion has the greatest ex- 
tent ? and what is its nature ? On what, consequently, may this passion 
turn? 

What would be a good preparative to such an inquiry as we are going to 
make in the ensuing discourse ? What is remarked on the passions already 
mentioned ? and also on the variety of the passions ? 



68 ON THE SUBLIME 

cessary to consider in our present design, though the 
variety of the passions is great, and worthy, in every 
branch of that variety, of an attentive investigation. 
iThe more accurately v^e search into the human mind, 
the stronger traces we every where find of His wisdom 
who made it. I If a discourse on the use of the parts of 
the body may be considered as a hymn to the Creator, 
the use of the passions, which are the organs of the 
mind, can not be barren of praise to him, nor unpro- 
ductive to ourselves of that noble and uncommon 
union of science and admiration which a contemplation 
of the works of infinite wisdom alone can afford to a 
rational mind ; while, referring to him whatever we 
find of right, or good, or fair in ourselves, discovering 
his strength and wisdom even in our own weakness 
and imperfection, honoring them where we discover 
them clearly, and adoring their profundity where we 
are lost in our search, we may be inquisitive without 
impertinence, and elevated without pride ; we may bj 
admitted, if I may dare to say so, into the counsels of 
the Almighty by a consideration of his works. The 
elevation of the mind ought to be the principal end of 
all our studies, which if they do not in some measure 
effect, they are of very little service to us. But, be- 
sides this great purpose, a consideration of the ration- 
ale of our passions seems to me very necessary for all 
who would affect them upon solid and sure principles. 
It is not enough to know them in general : to affect 
them after a delicate manner, or to judge properly of 

By searching accurately iuto the human mind, traces of what do we tind? 
If a discourse on the use of the parts of the body may be considered as a 
hymn to the Creator, what inferences are drawn with regard to the pas- 
sions ? What should be the principal end of all our studies ? Besides this 
great purpose, what consideration seems necessary? To affect the pas- 
sions after a delicate manner, or to judge properly of any work designed 
to aifect tl;iem, what knQwledge of them is necessary ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 69 

any work designed to affect them, we should know the 
exact boundaries of their several jurisdictions ; we 
should pursue them through all their variety of opera- 
tions, and pierce into the inmost, and what might ap- 
pear inaccessible parts of our nature : 

" Quod latet arcana non enarrabile fibra." 
" That which can not be described lies concealed in the secret fibres." 

Without all this, it is possible for a man, after a con- 
fused manner, sometimes to satisfy his own mind of the 
truth of his work ; but he can never have a certain de- 
terminate rule to go by, nor can he ever make his 
propositions sufficiently clear to others. Poets, and 
orators, and painters, and those who cultivate other 
branches of the liberal arts, have, without this critical 
knowledge, succeeded well in their several provinces, 
and will succeed; as among artificers there are many 
machines made, and even invented, without any exact 
knowledge of the principles by which they are govern- 
ed. It is, I own, not uncommon to be wrong in theo- 
ry and right in practice ; and we are happy that it is 
so. Men often act right from their feelings, who af- 
terward reason but ill on them from principle ; but, as 
it is impossible to avoid an attempt at such reasoning, 
and equally impossible to prevent its having some in- 
fluence on our practice, surely it is worth taking some 
pains to have it just, and founded on the basis of sure 
experience. We might expect that the artists them- 
selves would have been our surest guides ; but the art- 
ists have been too much occupied in the practice : the 

What is the disadvantage of not possessing that knowledge ? Why, then, 
have poets, orators, and painters succeeded well in their several provinces? 
How is the remark illustrated, that though we are sometimes wrong in 
theory, we are right in practice ? Why is it necessary to have our rea- 
soning just, and founded on the basis of experience ? Why have artists, 
philosophers, and critics failed on this subject ? 



■yO ON THE SUBtilM]^ 

philosophers have done little; and what they have 
done was mostly vi^ith a view to their own schemes 
and systems ; and as for those called critics, they have 
generally sought the rule of ihe arts in the wrong place : 
they sought it among poems, pictures, engravings, stat- 
ues, and buildings ; but art can never give^ the rul^ 
that make an art. This^is, I believe, the reason why 
artists in general, and poets principally, have been con- 
fined in so narrow a circle ; they have been rather im- 
itators of one another than of nature ; and this with so 
faithful a uniformity, and to so remote an antiquity, 
that it is hard to say who gave the first model. Crit- 
ics follow them, and therefore can do little as guides. 
I can judge but poorly of any thing while I measure it 
by no other standard than itself. The true standard 
of the arts is in every man's power ; and an easy ob- 
servation of the most common, sometimes of the mean- 
est things in nature, will give the truest lights, where 
the greatest sagacity and industry that slights such ob- 
servation must leave us in the dark, or, what is worse, 
amuse and mislead us by false lights. In an inquiry, 
it is almost every thing to be once in a right road. I 
am satisfied I have done but little by these observa- 
tions considered in themselves ; and I never should 
have taken the pains to digest them, much less should 
I have ever ventured to publish them, if I were not 
convinced that nothing tends more to the corruption 
of science than to suffer it to stagnate. These waters 
must be troubled before they can exert their virtues. 



Why have poets particularly been confined to so narrow a circle ? Why 
can critics do little as guides ? When can we judge but poorly of any 
thing? How is the rcmarlc illustrated that the true standard of the arts is 
in every man's power ? In an inquiry, what is almost every thing ? Why 
was our author induced to publish these observatioas ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 71 

A man who works beyond the surface of things, though 
he may be wrong himself, yet he clears the way for 
others, and may chance to make even his errors sub- 
servient to the cause of truth. In the following parts^ 
I shall inquire what things they are that cause in us 
the affections of the sublime and beautiful, as in this I 
have considered the affections themselves. I only de- 
sire one favor, that no part of this discourse may be 
judged of by itself, and independently of the rest ; for 
I am sensible I have not disposed my materials to abide .. 

the test of a captious controversy, but of a sober and i^ 
even forgiving examination ; that they are not armed 
at all points for battle, but dressed to visit those who 
are willing to give a peaceful entrance to truth. 

What is said of the man who works beyond the surface of things ? In the 
following parts, what is to be the subject of inquiry ? What has been con- 
sidered in this T Why does our author desire that no part of this discourse 
may be judged of by itself, and independently of the rest ? 



72 ON THE SUBLIME 



PART 11. 
SECTION I. 

OP THE PASSION CAUSED BY THE SUBLIME. 

The passion caused by the great and sublime in na- 
ture^ when those causes operate most powerfully, is 
astonishment ; and astonishment is that state of the 
soul in which all its motions are suspended with some 
degree of horror.* In this case, the mind is so entire- 
ly filled with its object, that it can not entertain any 
other, nor, by consequence, reason on that object which 
employs it. Hence arises the great power, of the sub- 
lime, that, far from being produced by them, it antici- 
pates our reasonings, and hurries us on by an irresisti- 
ble force. Astonishment, as I have said, is the effect 
of the sublime in its highest degree ; the inferior effects 
are admiration, reverence, and respect. 



SECTION II. 

TERROR. 

No passion so effectually robs the mind of all its 
powers of acting and reasoning as fear ;f for fear be- 

What is the passion caused by the great and sublime in nature, when 
those causes operate most powerfully ? What is meant by astonishment ? 
To what extent is the mind, in this state, filled with its object ? Hence 
what arises? Astonishment being the effect of the sublime in its highest 
degree, what are its inferior effects ? 

Why does fear effectually rob the mind of all its powers? 

* Part i„ sect, iii., iv., vij. f Part iv,, sect, iii., iv., v., vi. 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 73 

ing an appreheiwion of pain or death, it operates in a 
manner that resembles actual pain. Whatever, there- 
fore, is terrible with regard to sight, is sublime too, 
whether this cause of terror be endued with greatness 
of dimensions or not ; for it is impossible to look on 
any thing as trifling or contemptible that may be dan- 
gerous. There are many animals that, though far from 
being large, are yet capable of raising ideas of the sub- 
lime, because they are considered as objects of terror ; 
as serpents and poisonous animals of almost all kinds. 
And to things of great dimensions, if we annex an ad- 
ventitious idea of terror, they become without compar- 
ison greater. A level plain of a vast extent on land is 
certainly no mean idea ; the prospect of such a plain 
may be as extensive as a prospect of the ocean, but 
can it ever fill the mind with any thing so great as the 
ocean itself? This is owing to several causes ; but 
it is owing to none more than to this, that this ocean 
is an object of no small terror. Indeed, terror is, in 
all cases whatsoever, either more openly or latently 
the ruling principle of the sublime. Several langua- 
ges bear a strong testimony to the affinity of these 
ideas. They frequently use the same word to signify 
indifferently the modes of astonishment or admiration, 
and those of terror. Qafi6og is, in Greek, either fear or 
wonder ; Seivog is terrible or respectable ; a^dew, to rev- 
erence or to fear. Vereor in Latin is what aideo) is in 
Greek. The Romans used the verb stupeo, a term 

Wh)"- is whatever is terrible with regard to sight sublime also ? Why are 
many animals that are far from being large capable of raising ideas of the 
sublime? What examples? What is the consequence, if we annex to 
things of great dimension the adventitious idea of terror? What is ob- 
served of a level plain and of the ocean ? How does our author make it 
appear evident that terror is in all cases, either more openly or latently, the 
ruling principle of the sublime ? 

G 



74 ON THE SUBLIME 

which strongly marks the state of an astonished mind, 
to express the effect either of simple fear or of aston- 
ishment : the word attonitus (thunderstruck) is equally 
expressive of the alliance of these ideas ; and do not 
the French etonnement, and the English astonishment 
and amazement, point out as clearly the kindred emo- 
tions which attend fear and wonder ? They who have 
a more general knowledge of languages could produce, 
I make no doubt, many other and equally striking ex- 
amples. 



SECTION III. 

OBSCURITY. 

To make any thing very terrible, obscurity* seems, 
in general, to be necessary. When we know the full 
extent of any danger, when we can accustom our eyes 
to it, a great deal of the apprehension vanishes. Every 
one will be sensible of this who considers how greatly 
night adds to our dread in all cases of danger, and 
how much the notions of ghosts and goblins, of which 
none can form clear ideas, affect minds which give 
credit to the popular tales concerning such sorts of be- 
ings. Those despotic governments which are founded 
on the passions of men, and principally upon the pas- 
sion of fear, keep their chief as much as may be from 
the public eye. The policy has been the same in many 
cases of religion. Almost all the heathen temples were 
dark. Even in the barbarous temples of the Ameri- 

Why does obscurity seem, in general, necessary to make any thing very 
terrible ? How may every one be sensible of this 1 Illustrate this remark 
from despotic governments, and from heathen worship. 

* Part iv., sect, xiv., xv., xvi. 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 75 

Cans, at this day, they keep their idol in a dark part 
of the hut which is consecrated to his worship. For 
this purpose, too, the Druids performed all their cere- 
monies in the bosom of the darkest woods, and in the 
shade of the oldest and most spreading oaks. ! No per- 
son seems better to have understood the secret of 
heightening, or of setting terrible things, if I may use 
the expression, in their strongest light, by the force of 
a judicious obscurity, than Milton. His description of 
Death, in the second book, is admirably studied : it is 
astonishing with what a gloomy pomp, with what a 
significant and expressive uncertainty of strokes and 
coloring, he has finished the portrait of the king of 
terrors : 

" The other shape, 
If shape it might be calj'd that shape had none 
Distinguishable, in member, joint, or limb ; 
Or substance might be call'd that shadow seem'd, 
For each seem'd either, black he stood as night ; 
Fierce as ten furies ; terrible as hell ; 
And shook a deadly dart. What seem'd his head 
The likeness of a kingly crown had on." 

In this description all is dark, uncertain, confused, ter- 
rible, and sublime to the last degree. 



SECTION IV. 

OP THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN CLEARNESS AND OBSCURITY 
WITH REGARD TO THE PASSIONS. 

It is one thinff to make an idea clear, and another 
to make it affecting to the imagination. If I make a 

What is observed of Milton, and of his description of death ? Repeat it 
What is said of it ? 

How is the observation illustrated, that it is one thing to make an idea 
clear, and another to make it affecting to the imagination ? 



76 ON THE StTBLIMJ! 

drawing of a palace, or a temple, or a landscape, I 
present a very clear idea of those objects ; but then 
(allowing for the effect of imitation, which is some- 
thing) my picture can at most affect only as the palace, 
temple, or landscape would have affected in the reali- 
ty. On the other hand, the most lively and spirked 
verbal description I can give raises a very obscure 
and imperfect idea of such objects ; but then it is in my 
power to raise a stmnger emotion by the description 
than I could do by the best painting. This experience 
constantly evinces. The proper manner of conveying 
the affections of the mnid from one to another is by 
words : there is a great insufficiency in all other meth- 
ods of communication ; and so far is a clearness of 
imagery from being absolutely necessary to an influ- 
ence upon the passions, that they may be considerably 
operated upon, without presenting any image at all, 
by certain sounds adapted to that purpose ; of which 
we have a sufficient proof in the acknowledged and 
powerful effects of instrumental music. In reality, a 
clearness helps but little toward affecting the passions, 
as it is in some sort an enemy to all enthusiasm what- 
soever. 



SECTION V. 

THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED. 

There are two verses in Horace's Art of Poetry 
that seem to contradict this opinion ; for which reason 

What is observed of the most lively and spirited verbal description? How 
is it illustrated that the proper manner of conveying the affections of the 
mind from one to another is by vrords ? Why does great clearness help but 
little toward affecting the passions ■? 



ikND BEAUTIFUL. 77 

I shall take a little more pains to clear it up. The ver- 
ses are, 

" Segnius irritant animos demissa per aures, 
Quam quae sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus." 

" The mind is less easily excited through the ear than through the eye." 

On this the Abbe du Bos founds a criticism, wherein 
he gives painting the preference to poetry in the arti- 
cle of moving the passions, principally on account of 
the greater clearness of the ideas it represents. I be- 
lieve this excellent judge was led into this mistake (if 
it be a mistake) by his system, to which he found it 
more conformable than I imagine it will be found by 
experience. I know several who admire and love 
painting, and yet who regard the objects of their ad- 
miration in that art with coolness enough in compari- 
son of that warmth with which they are animated by 
affecting pieces of poetry or rhetoric. Among the 
common sort of people, I never could perceive that 
painting had much influence on their passions. It is 
true that the best sorts of painting, as well as the best 
sorts of poetry, are not much understood in that sphere. 
But it is most certain that their passions are very strong- 
ly roused by a fanatic preacher, or by the ballads of 
Chevy Chase, or the Children in the Wood, and by 
other little popular poems and tales that are current in 
that rank of life. I do not know of any paintings, bad 
or good, that produce the same effect. So that poe- 
try, with all its obscurity, has a more general, as well 
as a more powerful dominion over the passions, than 

Why does our author think it necessary to take more pains in clearing 
up this opinion ? Repeat them. What criticism has been founded on them ? 
How was this excellent judge led into this mistake ? Of persons known by 
our author, what is remarked ? With regard to the influence of painting 
and poetry on the minds of the common people, what is remarked ? JIow 
is this remark illustrated ? 

G2 



78 ON THE SUBLIME 

the other art. And I think there are reasons in nature 
why the obscure idea, when properly conveyed, should 
be more affecting than the clear. It is our ignorance 
of things that causes all our admiration, and chiefly 
excites our passions. Knowledge and acquaintance 
make the most striking causes affect but little. It is 
thus with the vulgar ; and all men are as the vulgar in 
what they do not understand. The ideas of eternity 
and infinity are among the most affecting we have ; 
and perhaps there is nothing of which we really un- 
derstand so little as of infinity and eternity. We do 
not any where meet a more subhme description than 
this justly celebrated one of Milton, wherein he gives 
the portrait of Satan with a dignity so suitable to the 
subject : 

" He above the rest, 
In shape and gesture proudly eminent, 
Stood hke a tower ; his form had yet not lost 
All her original brightness, nor appear'd 
Less than archangel ruin'd, and th' excess 
Of glory obscured : as when the sun, new ris'n, 
Looks through the horizontal misty air 
Shorn of his beams ; or from behind the moon 
In dim eclipse disastrous twilight sheds 
On half the nations, and with fear of change 
Perplexes monarchs." 

Here is a very noble picture ; and in what does this 
poetical picture consist ? In images of a tower, an 
archangel, the sun rising through mists, or in an eclipse, 
the ruin of monarchs, and the revolutions of kingdoms. 
The mind is hurried out of itself by a crowd of great 
and confused images, which affect because they are 
crowded and confused. For separate them, and you 

For what are there reasons in nature ? What is it that causes all our ad- 
miration, and chiefly excites our passions? What is the effect of knowl- 
edge and acquaintance ? What is observed of the ideas of infinity and eter- 
nity ? Recite Milton's portrait of Satan. What is said of it 1 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 79 

lose much of the greatness ; and join them, and you in- 
fallibly lose the clearness. The images raised by poe- 
try are always of this obscure kind, though in general 
the effects of poetry are by no means to be attributed 
to the images it raises ; which point we shall examine 
more at large hereafter.* But painting, when we have 
allowed for the pleasure of imitation, can only affect 
yimply by the images it presents ; and even in painting, 
a judicious obscurity in some things contributes to the 
effect of the picture ; because the images in painting 
are exactly similar to those in nature ; and in nature 
dark, confused, uncertain images have a greater pow- 
er on the fancy to form the grander passions than 
those have which are more clear and determinate. But 
where and when this observation may be applied to 
practice, and how far it shall be extended, will be 
better deduced from the nature of the subject, and 
from the occasion, than from any rules that can be 
given. 

I am sensible that this idea has met with opposition, 
and is likely still to be rejected by several. But let it 
be considered, that hardly any thing can strike the 
mind with its greatness which does not make some 
sort of approach toward infinity ; which nothing can 
do while we are able to perceive its bounds ; but to 
see an object distinctly, and to perceive its bounds, are 
one and the same thing. A clear idea is, therefore, 
another name for a little idea. There is a passage in 

What would be the eflfect of separating the images here associated ? and 
also of joining them? What is observed of the images raised by poetry? 
and of its effect ? By what only can painting aflfect ? Why does a judi- 
cious obscurity in painting frequently contribute to the effect of the picture ? 
How are we to ascertain where or when this observation is to be applied to 
practice ? How may the objection to this idea be answered ? A clear idea 
is another name for what ? 
" ^ Party, ~ " 



80 ON THE SUBLIME 

the book of Job amazingly sublime ; and this sublimity 
is principally due to the terrible uncertainty of the 
thing described : In thoughts, from the visions of the 
night, when deep sleep falletli upon men, fear came upon 
me and trembling, which made all my hones to shake. 
Then a spirit passed hefwe my face. The hair of my 
flesh stood up. It stood still, but I could not discern 
the form thereof ; an image was before mine eyes ; there 
was silence ; and I heard a voice. Shall mortal man he 
more just than God? We are first prepared with the 
utmost solemnity for the vision ; we are first terrified 
before we are let even into the obscure cause of our 
emotion ; but when this grand cause of terror makes 
its appearance, what is it ? Is it not wrapped up in 
the shades of its own incomprehensible darkness, more 
awful, more striking, more terrible than the liveliest 
description, than the clearest painting, could possibly 
represent it ? When painters have attempted to give 
us clear representations of these very fanciful and ter- 
rible ideas, they have, I think, almost always failed ; 
insomuch that I have been at a loss, in all the pictures 
I have seen of hell, whether the painter did not intgnd 
something ludicrous. Several painters have handled 
a subject of this kind wdth a view to assemble as many 
horrid phantoms as their imaginations could suggest ; 
but all the designs I have chanced to meet of the temp- 
tations of St. Anthony, were rather a sort of old wild 
grotesques, than any thing capable of producing a se- 
rious passion. In all these subjects poetry is very 

To what does the passage here introduced from Job owe its sublimity ? 
Recite it. How does the emotion produced by this passage proceed ? But 
when this grand cause of terror makes its appearance, what is it ? When 
painters have attempted to give as clear representations of these very fanci- 
ful and terrible ideas, how have they succeeded? How have several paint- 
ers handled subjects of this kind ? How have they succeeded? 



AND BEAUTIFUL, 81 

happy. Its apparitions, its chimeras, its harpies, its al- 
legorical figures, are grand and affecting ; and though 
Virgil's Fame and Homer's Discord are obscure, they 
are magnificent figures. These figures, in painting, 
would be clear enough, but I fear they might become 
ridiculous. 



SECTION VI. 

POWER. 

Besides those things which directly suggest the idea 
of danger, and those which produce a similar effect 
from a mechanical cause, I know of nothing sublime 
which is not some modification of power. And this 
branch rises, as naturally as the other two branches, 
from terror, the common stock of every thing that is 
sublime. The idea of power, at first view, seems of 
the class of these indifferent ones, which may equally 
belong to pain or to pleasure. But, in reality, the af- 
fection arising from the idea of vast power is extreme- 
ly remote from that neutral character. For, first, we 
must remember* that the idea of pain, in its highest 
degree, is much stronger than the highest degree of 
pleasure, and that it preserves the same superiority 
through all the subordinate gradations. From hence 
it is, that where the chances for equal degrees of suf- 
fering or enjoyment are in any sort equal, the idea of 

In all these subjects, how has poetry succeeded ? What examples are giv- 
en ? How would these figures appear in painting ? 

Besides what things does our author know of nothing sublime which is 
not some modification of power ? From what does this branch naturally 
arise ? Of what class does the idea of power at first view seem to be ? 
How does it appear that this is not the case ? Hence what arises ? 

* Part i,, sect. vii. 



82 ON THE SUBLIME 

the saffering must always be prevalent. And, indeed, 
the ideas of pain, and, above all, of death, are so very 
affecting, that while we remain in the presence of 
whatever is supposed to have the power of inflicting 
either, it is impossible to be pei'fectly free from terror. 
Again, we know by experience that, for the enjoyment 
of pleasure, no great efforts of power are at all neces- 
sary ; nay, we know that such efforts would go a great 
way toward destroying our satisfaction ; for pleasure 
must be stolen, and not forced upon us : pleasure fol- 
lows the will, and therefore we are generally affected 
with it by many things of a force greatly inferior to 
our own. But pain is always inflicted by a power, in 
some way, superior, because we never submit to pain 
willingly. So that strength, violence, pain, and terror 
are ideas that rush in upon the mind together. Look 
at a man or any other animal of prodigious strength, 
and what is your idea before reflection? Is it that 
this strength will be subservient to you, to your ease, 
to your pleasure, to your interest in any sense ? No : 
the emotion you feel is, lest this enormous strength 
should be employed to the purposes of* rapine and de- 
struction. That power derives all its sublimity from 
the terror with which it is generally accompanied, will 
appear evidently from its effect in the very few cases 
in which it may be possible to strip a considerable de- 
gree of strength of its ability to hurt. When you do 

How do the ideas of pain and death affect us ? What do we know by ex- 
perience ? What is the effect of such efforts, and why ? Pleasure follows 
what ? and what is the consequence ? How does it appear that pain is h1- 
ways inflicted by a power in some way superior? What ideas, consequent- 
ly, rush in upon the mind together ? How is this illustrated ? How may 
it be made to appear evident that power derives all its sublimity from the 
terror with which it is generally accompanied ? 

* Vide part iii., sect. xxL 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 83 

this, you spoil it of every thing subHme, and it imme- 
diately becomes contemptible. An ox is a creature 
of vast strength ; but he is an innocent creature, ex- 
tremely serviceable, and not at all dangerous ; for 
which reason the idea of an ox is by no means grand. 
A bull is strong too ; but his strength is of another 
kind ; often very destructive, seldom (at least among 
us) of any use in our business : the idea of a bull is 
therefore great, and it has frequently a place in sub- 
lime descriptions and elevating comparisons. Let us 
look at another strong animal in the two distinct lights 
in which we may consider him. The horse, in the 
light of a useful beast, fit for the plough, the road, the 
draught, in every social, useful light the horse has noth- 
ing of the sublime ; but is it thus that we are affect- 
ed with him, whose neck is clothed with thunder, the 
glory of whose nostrils is terrihte, who swalloweth the 
ground with fierceness and rage, neither believeth that 
it is the sound of the trumpet ? In this description the 
useful character of the horse entirely disappears, and 
the teijible and sublime blaze out together. We have 
continually about us animals of a strength that is consid- 
erable, but not pernicious. Among these we never 
look for the sublime ; it comes upon us in the gloomy 
forest and in the howling wilderness, in the form of the 
lion, the tiger, the panther, or rhinoceros. Whenever 
strength is only useful, and employed for our benefit 
or our pleasure, then it is never sublime ; for nothing 
can act agreeably to us that does not act in conformi- 
ty to our will ; but, to act agreeably to our will, it must 
be subject to us, and therefore can never be the cause 

What examples are given to illustrate this remark? What is said of the 
description here given of the war-horse ? In what does the sublime come 
upon us ? Why is not strength sublime when it is useful, and employed for 
pur benefit or our pleasure ? 



84 ON THE SUBLIME 

of a grand and commanding conception. The descrip- 
tion of the wild ass, in Job, is worked up into no small 
sublimity, merely by insisting on his freedom, and his 
setting mankind at defiance ; otherwise the description 
of such an animal could have had nothing noble in it. 
Who hath loosed, says he, the bands of the wild ass, 
whose house I have made the loilderness, and the barren 
land his dwellings ? He scorneth the multitude of the 
city, neither regardeth he the voice of the driver. The 
range of the mountains is his pasture. The magnifi- 
cent description of the unicorn, and of leviathan, in the 
same book, is full of the same heightening circumstan- 
ces : Will the unicorn be willing to serve thee ? canst 
thou bind the unicorn with his band in the furrow 1 wilt 
thou trust him because his strength is great ? Cansl 
thou draw out leviathan with a hook ? will he make a 
covenant loitli thee ? wilt thou take him for a servant 
forever ? shall not one be cast down even at the sight of 
him ? In short, wheresoever we find strength, and in 
what light soever we look upon power, we shall all along 
observe the sublime the concomitant of terror, and con- 
tempt^ the attendant on a strength that is subservient 
and innoxious. The race of dogs, in many of their 
kinds, have generally a competent degree of strength 
and swiftness ; and they exert these, and other valua- 
ble qualities which they possess, greatly to our conve- 
nience and pleasure. Dogs are, indeed, the most social, 
affectionate, and amiable animals of the whole brute 
creation ; but love approaches much nearer to con- 
tempt than is commonly imagined ; and accordingly, 

How is the description of the wild ass in Job worked up into no small sub- 
limity ? Repeat it. What is said of the description of the unicorn and the 
leviathan in the same book ? Repeat theni. Of what shall we always 
observe the sublime the concomitant, and contempt the attendant ? How 
is this observation illustrated in the dog and in the wolf ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 85 

though we caress dogs, we borrow from them an ap- 
pellation of the most despicable kind when we employ 
terms of reproach ; and this appellation is the common 
mark of the last vileness and contempt in every lan- 
guage. Wolves have not more strength than several 
species of dogs ; but, on account of their unmanageable 
fierceness, the idea of a wolf is not despicable ; it is not 
excluded from the grand descriptions and similitudes. 
Thus we are affected by strength, which is natural 
power. The power which arises from institution in 
kings and commanders has the same connection with 
terror. Sovereigns are frequently addressed with the 
title of dread majesty. And it may be observed, that 
young persons little acquainted with the world, and 
who have not been used to approach men in power, are 
commonly struck with an awe which takes away the 
free use of their faculties. When I prepared my seat 
in the street (says Job), the young men saw me and hid 
themselves. Indeed, so natural is this timidity with re- 
gard to power, and so strongly does it inhere in our 
constitution, that very few are able to conquer it, but 
by mixing much in the business of the great world, or 
by using no small violence to their natural dispositions. 
I know some people are of opinion that no awe, no de- 
gree of terror, accompanies the idea of power, and have 
hazarded to affirm that we can contemplate the idea of 
God himself without any such emotion. I purposely 
avoided, when I first considered this subject, to intro- 
duce the idea of that great and tremendous Being as 
an example in an argument so light as this ; though it 

What else has the same connection with terror ? How are sovereigns fre- 
quently addressed ? What is said of young persons little acquainted with 
the world? In what way only is this natural timidity to be conquered? 
Some people are of what opinion ? and what have they hazarded ? What 
did our author purposely avoid when he first considered this subject 1 

H 



86 ON THE SUBLIME 

frequently occurred to me, not as an objection to, but 
as a strong confirmation of my notions in this matter. 
I hope, in what I am going to say, I shall avoid pre- 
sumption, where it is almost impossible for any mortal 
to speak with strict propriety. I say, then, that while 
we consider the Godhead merely as he is an object of 
the understanding, which forms a complex idea of pow- 
er, wisdom, justice, goodness, all stretched to a degree 
far exceeding the bounds of our comprehension ; while 
we consider the Divinity in this refined and abstracted 
light, the imagination and passions are little affected. 
But because we are bound, by the condition of our na- 
ture, to ascend to these pure and intellectual ideas 
through the medium of sensible images, and to judge 
of these divine qualities by their evident acts and ex- 
ertions, it becomes extremely hard to disentangle our 
idea of the cause from the effect by which we are led 
to know it. Thus, when we contemplate the Deity, 
his attributes and their operations coming united on the 
mind, form a sort of sensible image, and, as such, are 
capable of affecting the imagination. Now though, in 
a just idea of the Deity, perhaps none of his attributes 
are predominant, yet, to our imagination, his power is 
by far the most striking. Some reflection, some com- 
paring, is necessary to satisfy us of his wisdom, his jus- 
tice, and his goodness. To be struck with his power, 
it is only necessary that we should open our eyes. But 
while we contemplate so vast an object, under the arm, 
as it were, of almighty power, and invested upon every 
side with omnipresence, we shrink into the minuteness 

What does he hope in what he is going to say ? When are the imagination 
and passions little affected by our considerations of the Divinity ? What 
remark follows ? How is it illustrated ? How. is the remark fully illustra- 
ted that, to our imaginations, the power of the Deity is the most striking of 
his attributes ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 87 

of our own nature, and are, in a manner, annihilated 
before him. And though a consideration of his other 
attributes may relieve, in some measure, our apprehen- 
sions, yet no conviction of the justice with which it is 
exercised, nor the mercy with which it is tempered, 
can wholly remove the terror that naturally arises 
from a force which nothing can withstand. If we re- 
joice, we rejoice with trembling ; and even while we 
are receiving benefits, we can not but shudder at a 
power which can confer benefits of such mighty im- 
portance. When the Prophet David contemplated the 
wonders of wisdom and power which are displayed in 
the economy of man, he seems to have been struck with 
a sort of divine horror, and cried out. Fearfully and 
wonderfully am I made ! A heathen poet has a senti- 
ment of a similar nature ; Horace looks upon it as the 
last effort of philosophical fortitude to behold, without 
terror and amazement, this immense and glorious fab- 
ric of the universe : 

" Hunc solem, et stellas, et decendentia certis 
Tempora momentis, sunt qui formidine nulla 
Imbuti spectant." 

" There are persons who contemplate, without amazement, the sun and 
stars, and the seasons departing at their stated periods." 

Lucretius is a poet not to be suspected of giving way 
to superstitious terrors ; yet, when he supposes the 
whole mechanism of nature laid open by the master 
of his philosophy, his transport on this magnificent 
view, which he has represented in the colors of such 
bold and lively poetry, is overcast with a shade of se- 
cret dread and horror : 



How was David affected when contemplating the wonders of wisdom and 
power which are displayed in the economy of man ? What similar senti- 
ment has Horace ? What is remarked of Lucretius ? 



88 ON THE SUBLIME 

"His tibi me rebus quaedam divina voluptas 
Percipit, atque horror, quod sic Natura tua vi 
Tarn manifesta patet ex omni parte retecta." 
"These things have transported me, but I tremble as I think that thy 
strong hand has laid open to view the operations of Nature." 

But the Scripture alone can supply ideas answerable 
to the majesty of this subject. In the Scripture, where- 
ever God is represented as appearing or speaking, ev- 
ery thing terrible in nature is called up to heighten 
the awe and solemnity of the Divine presence. The 
Psalms and the prophetical books are crowded with 
instances of this kind. The earth shook (says the 
Psalmist), the heavens also dropped at the presence of 
the Lord. And, what is remarkable, the painting pre- 
serves the same character, not only v/hen he is suppo- 
sed descending to take vengeance upon the wicked, 
but even when he exerts the like plenitude of power 
in acts of beneficence to mankind. Tremble, thou 
earth! at the presence of the Lord; at the presence of 
the God of Jacob ; which turned the rock into standing 
water, the flint into a fountain of waters ! It were end- 
less to enumerate all the passages, both in the sacred 
and profane writers, which establish the general sen- 
timent of mankind concerning the inseparable union of 
a sacred and reverential awe with our ideas of the 
Divinity. Hence the common maxim, Primos in orbe 
deos fecit timor : " Fear first made gods in the world." 
This maxim may be, as I believe it is, false with re- 
gard to the origin of religion. The maker of the max- 
im saw how inseparable these ideas were, without con- 
sidering that the notion of some great power must I^e 

Recite the illustration. Where only can we find ideas answerable to the 
majesty of this subject ? How is this illustrated ? What is remarkable ? 
What example is given ? Out of the inseparable union of a sacred and rev- 
erential awe with our ideas of the Divinity, what maxim has grown ? What 
is said of it ? What did the maker of it see ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 89 

always precedent to our dread of it. But this dread 
must necessarily follow the idea of such a power when 
it is once excited in the mind. It is on this principle 
that true religion has, and must have, so large a mix- 
ture of salutary fear, and that false religions have 
generally nothing else but fear to support them. Be- 
fore the Christian religion had, as it were, humanized 
the idea of the Divinity, and brought it somewhat 
nearer to us, there was very little said of the love of 
God. The followers of Plato have something of it, and 
only something ; the other writers of pagan antiquity, 
whether poets or philosophers, nothing at all. And 
they who consider with what infinite attention, by what 
a disregard of every perishable object, through what 
long habits of piety and contemplation it is that any 
man is able to attain an entire love and devotion to the 
Deity, will easily perceive that it is not the first, the 
most natural, and the most striking effect, which pro- 
ceeds from that idea. Thus, we have traced power 
through its several gradations unto the highest of all, 
where our imagination is finally lost ; and we find ter- 
ror quite throughout the progress, its inseparable com- 
panion, and growing along with it, as far as we can 
possibly trace them. Now, as power is undoubtedly 
a capital source of the sublime, this will point out evi- 
dently from whence its energy is derived, and to what 
class of ideas we ought to unite it. 

What results from this principle ? When was there little said of the love 
of God ? What is said of the followers of Plato, and of other writers of pa- 
gan antiquity ? What remark follows '• Having traced power through its 
various gradations, what do we find 1 What is the closing remark ? 

U2 



90 ON THE SUBLIME 

SECTION VII. 

PRIVATION. 

All general privations are great, because they are 
terrible : Vacuity^ Darkness, Solitude, and Silence, 
With what a fire of imagination, yet with what sever- 
ity of judgment, has Virgil amassed all these circum- 
stances, where he knows that all the images of a tre- 
mendous dignity ought to be united, at the mouth of 
hell ! where, before he unlocks the secrets of the great 
deep, he seems to be seized with a religious horror, 
and to retire astonished at the boldness of his own 
design : 

" Di quibus irnperium est animarum, umbraeque silentesl 

Et Chaos, et Phlegethon ! loca nocte silentia late ! 

Sit mihi fas audita loqui ! sit numine vestro 

Pandere res alta terra et caligine mersas ' 

Ibant ohscuri^ sola sub nocte, per umbram, 

Perque domos Ditis vacuus, et inania regna." 
'* Ye subterraneous gods ! whose awful sway 

The gliding ghosts and silent shades obey : 

Chaos, hear ! and Phlegethon profound ! 

Whose solemn empire stretches wide aroujid ' 

Give me, ye great, tremendous powers, to tell 

Of scenes and wonders in the depth of hell : 

Give me your mighty secrets to display 

From those black realms of darkness to the day." — Pitt. 
" Obscure they went through dreary shades, that led 

Along the waste dominions of the dead." — Dryden. 



SECTION VIII. 

VASTNESS. 

Greatness* of dimension is a powerful cause of the 

Why are all general privations great ? What are the examples ? What 
is remarked on the manner in which Virgil has amassed all these circum- 
stances ? With what does he seem seized ? Repeat the passage. 

* Part iv., sect. ix. 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 91 

sublime. This is too evident, and the observation too 
common, to need any illustration ; it is not so common 
to consider in what ways greatness of dimension, vast- 
ness of extent, or quantity, has the most striking effect : 
for certainly there are ways and modes wherein the 
same quantity of extension shall produce greater ef- 
fects than it is found to do in others. Extension is 
either in length, height, or depth. Of these, the length 
strikes least ; a hundred yards of even ground will nev- 
er work such an effect as a tower a hundred yards 
high, or a rock or mountain of that altitude. I am apt ^ 
to imagine, likewise, that height is less grand than * 
depth ; and that we are more struck at looking dowai v"* 
from a precipice than looking up at an object of equal > 
height : but of that I am not very positive. A perpen- I 
dicular has more force in forming the sublime than an " 
inclined plane ; and the effects of a rugged and broken 
surface seem stronger than where it is smooth and pol- 
ished. It would carry us out of our way to enter in 
this place into the cause of these appearances ; but 
certain it is they afford a large and fruitful field of 
speculation. However, it may not be amiss to add to ,: 
these remarks upon magnitude, that as the great ex^ 
treme of dimension is subUme, so the last extreme of 
littleness is in some measure sublime likewise ; when 
we attend to the infinite divisibility of matter, when 
we pursue animal life into these excessively small and -a 
yet organized beings, that escape the nicest inquisition h 

How does It appear that it is not as common to considei in what ways 
greatness of dimension, &c., has the most striking effect, as it is to ac- 
knowledge that they are powerful sources of the sublime ? What are the 
directions of extension ? Which of these strikes least, and why ? What 
does our author likewise imagine ? Of a perpendicular, and of a rugged • 
and broken surface, what is said ? What inquiry here would carry us out 
of our way ? What is certain ? What, however, may not be amiss ? How 
is this made to appear ? 






92 ON THE SUBLIME 

of the sense ; when we push our discoveries yet down- 
ward, and consider those creatures so many degrees 
yet smaller, and the still diminishing scales of existence, 
in tracing which the imagination is lost as well as the 
sense, we become amazed and confounded at the woji- 
ders of minuteness ; nor can we distinguish in its effect 
this extreme of littleness from the vast itself: for divi- 
sion must be infinite, as well as addition ; because the 
idea of a perfect unity can no more be arrived at than 
that of a complete whole, to which nothing may be 
added. 



SECTION IX. 

INFINITY. 

Another source of the sublime is Infinity^ if it does 
not rather belong to the last. Infinity has a tendency 
to fill the mind with that sort of delightful horror which 
is the most genuine effect and truest test of the sub- 
Hme. There are scarcely any things which can be- 
come the objects of our senses, that are really and in 
their own nature infinite ; but the eye not being able 
to perceive the bounds of many things, they seem to 
be infinite, and they produce the same effects as if they 
were really so. We are deceived, in the like manner, 
if the parts of some large object are so continued to 
any indefinite number that the imagination meets no 
check which may hinder its extending them at pleas- 
ure. 

Why can we not distinguish,'in its effect, this extreme of littleness from the 
vast itself? 

What is another source of the sublime ? What tendency has it ? Why 
do things seem to be infinite which are in reality not so 1 When, also, are 
we deceived in the sarae manner ? 



ANt) BEAUTIFUL. 93 

Whenever we repeat any idea frequently, the mind, 
by a sort of mechanism, repeats it long after the first 
cause has ceased to operate.*' After whirling about, 
when we sit down, the objects about us still seem to 
whirl. After a long succession of noises, as the fall of 
waters or the beating of forge-hammers, the hammers 
beat and the water roars in the imagination long after 
the first sounds have ceased to affect it ; and they die 
away, at last, by gradations which are scarcely per- 
ceptible. If you hold up a straight pole, with your eye 
to one end, it will seem extended to a length almost 
incredible. f Place a number of uniform and equidis- 
tant marks on this pole, they will cause the same de- 
ception, and seem multiplied without end. The sen- 
ses, strongly affected in some one manner, can not 
quickly change their tenor, nor adapt themselves to 
other things; but they continue in their old channel 
until the strength of the first mover decays. This is 
the reason of an appearance very frequent in madmen, 
that they remain whole days and nights, sometimes 
whole years, in the constant repetition of some remark, 
some complaint, or song, which, having struck power- 
fully on their disordered imagination in the beginning 
of their phrensy, every repetition re-enforces it with 
new strength ; and the hurry of their spirits, unrestrain- 
ed by the curb of reason, continues it to the end of 
their lives. 

What is the effect of the frequent repetition of any idea ? How is this illus- 
trated ? What is remarked of the senses when strongly affected in any 
particular manner ? What is the effect of this on madmen ? 

* Part iv., sect. xii. t Part iv., sect. xiv. 



94 ON I^HE SUBLIMS 

SECTION X. 

SUCCESSION AND UNIFORMITY. 

Succession and uniformity of parts are what con- 
stitute the artificialmfinite. 1. Succession; which is 
requisite, that the parts may be continued so long and 
in such a direction as, by their frequent impulses on 
the sense, to impress the imagination with an idea of 
their progress beyond their actual limits. 2. Uniform- 
ity ; because, if the figures of the parts should be 
changed, the imagination at every change finds a 
check ; you are presented, at every alteration, with 
the termination of one idea and the beginning of an- 
other ; by which means it becomes impossible to con- 
tinue that uninterrupted progression which alone can 
stamp on bounded objects the character of infinity.* 
It is in this kind of artificial infinity, I believe, we oughl 
to look for the cause why a rotund has so noble an ef- 
fect ; for, in a rotund, whether it be a building or a 
plantation, you can no where fix a boundary ; turn 
which way you will, the same object still seems to 
continue, and the imagination has no rest. But the 
parts must be uniform, as well as circularly disposed, 
to give this figure its full force ; because any differ- 
ence, whether it be in the disposition or in the figure, 
or even in the color of the parts, is highly prejudicial 
to the idea of infinity, which every change must check 

What constitutes the artificial infinite ? What is remarked of succes- 
sion and of uniformity? Why ought we to look to this kind of artificial in- 
finity for the reason why a rotund has so noble an effect ? Why must the 
parts be uniform as well as circularly disposed, to give this figure its full 
force ? 

* Mr. Addison, in the Spectators concerning the pleasures of the imagi- 
nation, thinks it is because, in the rotund, at one glance you see half the 
building. This I do not imagine to be the real cause. 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 95 

and interrupt at every alteration commencing a new se- 
ries. On the same principles of succession and uniform- 
ity, the grand appearance of the ancient heathen tem- 
ples, which were generally oblong forms, with a range 
of uniform pillars on every side, wall be easily account- 
ed for. From the same cause, also, may be derived 
the grand effect of our aisles in many of our old cathe- 
drals. The form of a cross, used in some churches, 
seems to me not so eligible as the parallelogram of the 
ancients ; at least, I imagine it is not so proper for the 
outside ; for, supposing the arms of the cross every 
way equal, if you stand in a direction parallel to any 
of the side-walls or colonnades, instead of a deception 
that makes the building more extended than it is, you 
are cut off from a considerable part (two thirds) of its 
actual length ; and, to prevent all possibility of pro- 
gression, the arms of the cross, taking a new direction, 
make a right angle with the beam, and thereb^v^ wholly 
turn the imagination from the repetition of the former 
idea. Or suppose the spectator placed where he may 
take a direct view of such a building, what will be the 
consequence? The necessary consequence will be, 
that a good part of the basis of each angle, formed by 
the intersection of the arms of the cross, must be inev- 
itably lost ; the whole must, of course, assume a bro- 
ken, unconnected figure ; the lights must be unequal, 
here strong, and there weak ; without that noble gra- 
dation which the perspective always effects on parts 
disposed uninterruptedly in a right line. Some or all 
of these objections will lie against every figure of a 

How may the grand appearance of heathen temples be accounted for? 
What also may be derived from the same cause? Why is not the form of 
a cross as eligible as the parallelogram of the ancients? If the spectator 
be placed where he may take a direct view of such a building, what will 
be the consequence ? 



96 ON THE SUBLIME 

cross, in whatever view you take it. I exemplified 
them in the Greek cross, in which these faults appear 
the most strongly ; but they appear in some degree in 
all sorts of crosses. Indeed, there is nothing more 
prejudicial to the grandeur of buildings than to abound 
in angles — a fault obvious in many, and owing to an 
inordinate thirst for variety, which, whenever it pre- 
vails, is sure to leave very little true taste. 



SECTION XL 

MAGNITUDE IN BUILDING. 

To the sublime in building greatness of dimension 
seems requisite ; for, on a few parts, and those small, 
the imagination can not rise to any idea of infinity. 
No greatness in the manner can eflfectually compen- 
sate for the want of proper dimensions. There is no 
danger of drawing men into extravagant designs by 
this rule ; it carries its own caution along with it ; be- 
cause too great a length in buildings destroys the pur- 
pose of greatness, which it was intended to promote : 
the perspective will lessen it in height as it gains in 
length, and will bring it at last to a point, turning the 
whole figure into a sort of triangle, the poorest in its 
eflfect of almost any figure that can be presented to the 
eye. I have ever observed that colonnades, and ave- 
nues of trees of a moderate length, were, without com- 
parison, far grander than when they were suffered to 

In what cross do these faults most strongly appear ? What is greatly prej- 
udicial to the grandeur of buildings, and why ? 

Why does greatness of dimension seem requisite to the sublime in build- 
ing? For what can not greatness in the manner eflfectually compensate? 
Why is there no danger of drawing men into extravagant designs by this 
rule ? Of colonnades and avenues of trees what has our author ever ob- 
served ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 97 

run to immense distances. A true artist should put a 
generous deceit on the spectators, and effect the no- 
blest designs by easy methods. Designs that are vast 
by their dimensions only, are always the sign of a com- 
mon and low imagination. No work of art can be 
great but as it deceives ; to be otherwise, is the pre- 
rogative of nature only. A good eye will fix the me- 
dium between an excessive length or height (for the 
same objection lies against both) and a short or broken 
quantity ; and perhaps it might be ascertained to a tol- 
erable degree of exactness, if it were my purpose to 
descend far into the particulars of any art. 



SECTION XII. 

INFINITY IN PLEASING OBJECTS. 

Infinity, though of another kind, causes much of 
our pleasure in agreeable, as well as of our delight in 
sublime images. The spring is the pleasantest of the 
seasons ; and the young of most animals, though far 
from being completely fashioned, afford a more agree- 
able sensation than the full grown, because the imagi- 
nation is entertained with the promise of something 
more, and does not acquiesce in the present object of 
the sense. In unfinished sketches of drawing, I have 
often seen some things which pleased me beyond the 



What should a true artist do ? Of designs that are vast only by their dimen- 
sions, what is observed ? How^ only can works of art be great, and why ? 
Between what will a good eye fix the medium ? What, perhaps, might be 
ascertained ? 

How is the observation illustrated, that infinity causes much of our pleas- 
ure in agreeable, as well as of our delight in sublime images ? With un- 
finished sketches in drawing, how are we often affected, and why? 

1 



98 ON THE SUBLIME 

best finishing ; and this, I beUeve, proceeds from the 
cause I have just now assigned. 



SECTION XIII. 

DIFFICULTY. 

Another source of greatness is Difficulty.* When 
any work seems to have required immense force and 
labor to effect it, the idea is grand. Stonehenge, nei- 
ther for disposition nor ornament, has any thing ad- 
mirable ; but those huge rude masses of stone, set on 
end and piled on each other, turn the mind on the im- 
mense force necessary for such a work : nay, the rude- 
ness of the work increases this cause of grandeur, as 
it excludes the idea of art and contrivance ; for dex- 
terity produces another sort of effect, which is differ- 
ent enough from this. 



SECTION XIV. 

MAGNIFICENCE. 

Magnificence is likewise a source of the sublime. 
A great profusion of things, which are splendid or valu- 
able in themselves, is magnificent. The starry heaven, 
though it occurs so very frequently to our view, never 
fails to excite an idea of grandeur. This can not be 
owing to any thing in the stars themselves, separately 

From what consideration does it appear that difficulty is another source 
of greatness? How is this illustrated? Why does the rudeness of the 
work increase this cause of grandeur? 

What is likewise a source of the sublime ? What is observed of the star- 
ry heaven ? 

* Part iv., sect, iv., v., vi. 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 09 

Considered. The number is certainly the cause. The 
apparent disorder augments the grandeur ; for the ap- 
pearance of care is highly contrary to our ideas of 
magnificence. Besides, the stars lie in such apparent 
confusion as makes it impossible, on ordinary occa- 
sions, to reckon them. This gives them the advan- 
tage of a sort of infinity. In works of art, this kind of 
grandeur, which consists in multitude, is to be very 
cautiously admitted ; because a profusion of excellent 
things is not to be attained, or with too much difficulty ; 
and because in many cases this splendid confusion 
would destroy all use, which should be attended to, in 
most of the works of art, with the greatest care : be- 
sides, it is to be considered, that unless you can pro- 
duce an appearance of infinity by your disorder, you 
will have disorder only, without magnificence. There 
are, however, a sort of fire-works, and some other 
things, that in this way succeed well, and are truly 
grand. There are also many descriptions in the poets 
and orators which owe their sublimity to a richness 
and profusion of images, in which the mind is so daz- 
zled as to make it impossible to attend to that exact 
coherence and agreement of the allusions which we 
should require on every other occasion. I do not 
now remember a more striking example of this than 
the description which is given of the king's army in the 
play of Henry the Fourth : 

" All furnish'd, all in arms 
All plumed like ostriches that with the wind 
Baited like eagles having lately bathed ; 
As full of spirit as the month of May, 
And gorgeous as the sun in midsummer, 
Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls. 

Why is this kind of grandeur to be very cautiously admitted m works of 
art? What also is to be considered? What exceptions are there to this 
rule ? In poetry, what example is given ? Repeat it. 



100 ON THE SUBLIME 

I saw young Harry with his beaver on 
Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury, 
And vaulted with such ease into his seat 
As if an angel dropp'd from the clouds 
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus." 

In that excellent book, so remarkable for the viva- 
city of its descriptions, as well as the solidity and pen- 
etration of its sentences, the Wisdom of the Son of 
Sirach, there is a noble panegyric on the high-priest, 
Simon, the son of Onias ; and it is a very fine example 
of the point before us : 

How was he honored in the midst of the people, in 
Ms coming out of the sanctuary ! He was as the morn- 
ing star in the midst of a cloud, and as the moon at the 
full ; as the sun shining upon the temple of the Most 
High, and as the rainbow giving light in the bright 
clouds : and as the flower of roses in the spring of the 
year, as lilies by the rivers of waters, and as the frank- 
incense-tree in summer ; as fire and incense in the cen- 
ser, and as a vessel of gold set with precious stones ; as 
a fair olive-tree budding forth fruit, and as a cypress 
which groweth up to the clouds. When he put on the 
robes of honor, and was clothed with the perfection of 
glory, when he went up to the holy altar, he made the 
garment of holiness honorable. He himself stood by 
the hearth of the altar, compassed with his brethren 
round about ; as a young cedar in Libanus, and as 
palm-trees compassed they him about. So were all the 
sons of Aaron in their glory, and the oblations of the 
Lord in their hands, <^c. 

What in oratory ? Repeat it. 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 101 

SECTION XV. 

LIGHT. 

Having considered extension, so far as it is capable 
of raising ideas of greatness, color comes next under 
consideration. All colors depend on light. Light, 
therefore, ought previously to be examined ; and with it 
its opposite, darkness. With regard to light, to make 
it a cause capable of producing the subhme, it must be 
attended with some circumstances besides its bare fac- 
ulty of showing other objects. Mere light is too com- 
mon a thing to make a strong impression on the mind; 
and without a strong impression nothing can be sub- 
lime. But such a light as that of the sun, immediately 
exerted on the eye. as it overpowers the sense, is a 
very great idea. Light of an inferior strength to this, 
if it moves with great celerity, has the same power ; 
for lightning is certainly productive of grandeur, which 
it owes chiefly to the extreme velocity of its motion. 
A quick transition from lighf to darkness, or from dark- 
ness to light, has yet a greater effect. But darkness 
is more productive of sublime ideas than light. Our 
great poet was convinced of this ; and, indeed, so full 
was he of this idea, so entirely possessed with the 
power of a well-managed darkness, that in describing 
the appearance of the Deity, amid that profusion of 
magnificent images which the grandeur of his subject 
provokes him to pour out upon every side, he is far 
from forgetting the obscurity which surrounds the most 
incomprehensible of all beings, but 

What comes next under consideration ? On what do all colors depend 1 
What ought, therefore, previously to be examined? What is observed of 
light, and why 1 Of the light of the sun what is remarked ? When has 
light of an inferior strength the same power, and why ? What has a still 
greater effect ? What was the effect of Milton's conviction of this fact ? 

12 



102 ON THE SUBLIME 

" With the majesty of darkness round 
Circles his throne." 

And, what is no less remarkable, our author had the 
secret of preserving this idea, even when he seemed to 
depart the farthest from it, when he describes the hght 
and glory which flows from the Divine presence ; a 
light which, by its very excess, is converted into a 
species of darkness : 

" Dark with excessive light thy skirts appear." 

Here is an idea not only poetical in a high degree, but 
strictly and philosophically just. Extreme light, by 
overcoming the organs of sight, obliterates all objects, 
so as, in its effect, exactly to resemble darkness. Af- 
ter looking for some time at the sun, two black spots, 
the impression which it leaves, seem to dance before 
our eyes. Thus are two ideas, as opposite as can be 
imagined, reconciled in the extremes of both ; and 
both, in spite of their opposite nature, brought to con- 
cur in producing the sublime. And this is not the 
only instance wherein the opposite extremes operate 
equally in favor of the sublime, which in all things ab- 
hors mediocrity. 



SECTION XVI. 

LIGHT IN BUILDING. 

As the management of light is a matter of import- 
ance in architecture, it is worth inquiring how far this 
remark is applicable to building. I think, then, that 
all edifices calculated to produce an idea of the sub- 
lime ought rather to be dark and gloomy ; and this for 

With him, what is no less remarkable ? What is said of this idea? and 
how is it illustrated ? Thus, what is reconciled ' 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 103 

two reasons : the first is, that darkness itself, on other 
occasions, is known by experience to have a greater 
effect on the passions than hght. The second is, that, 
to make an object very striking, we should make it as 
different as possible from the objects v^^ith which we 
have been immediately conversant; when, therefore, 
you enter a building, you can not pass into a greater 
light than you had in the open air : to go into one 
some few degrees less luminous, can make only a tri- 
fling change ; but, to make the transition thoroughly 
striking, you ought to pass from the greatest light to 
as much darkness as is consistent with the uses of ar- 
chitecture. At night the contrary rule will hold, but 
for the very same reason ; and the more highly a room 
is then illuminated, the grander will the passion be. 



SECTION XVII. 

COLOR CONSIDERED AS PRODUCTIVE OF THE SUBLIRTE. 

Among colors, such as are soft and cheerful (except, 
perhaps, a strong red, which is cheerful) are unfit to 
produce grand images. An immense mountain, cov- 
ered with a shining green turf, is nothing, in this re- 
spect, to one dark and gloomy ; the cloudy sky is 
more grand than the blue, and night more sublime and 
solemn than day. Therefore, in historical painting, a 
gay or gaudy drapery can never have a happy effect ; 
and in buildings, when the highest degree of the sub- 

For what two reasons should all edifices, calculated to produce an idea of 
the sublime, be dark and gloomy ? How is the second illustrated ? What 
is necessary in order to make the transition thoroughly striking ? Why 
does the contrary rule hold good at night ? 

What colors are unfit to produce grand images ? How is this illustrated ? 
What is observed of historical painting, and of buildings ? 



104 ON THE SUBLIME 

lime is intended, the materials and ornaments ought 
neither to be white nor green, nor yellow, nor blue, 
nor of a pale red, nor violet, nor spotted, but of sad 
and fuscous colors, as black, or brown, or deep purple, 
and the like. Much of gilding, mosaics, painting, or 
statues, contribute but little to the sublime. This rule 
need not be put in practice except where a uniform 
degree of the most striking sublimity is to be pro- 
duced, and that in every particular ; for it ought to 
be observed, that this melancholy kind of greatness, 
though it be certainly the highest, ought not to be 
studied in all sorts of edifices, where yet grandeur 
must be studied ; in such cases, the sublimity must be 
drawn from the other sources, with a strict caution, 
however, against any thing light and riant, as nothing 
so effectually deadens the whole taste of the sublime. 



SECTION XVIII. 

SOUND AND LOUDNESS. 

The eye is not the only organ of sensation by which 
a sublime passion may be produced. Sounds have a 
great power in these as in most other passions. I do 
not mean words, because words do not affect simply 
by their sounds, but by means altogether different. 
Excessive loudness alone is sufficient to overpower 
the soul, to suspend its action, and to fill it with terror. 
The noise of vast cataracts, raging storms, thunder, or 
artillery, awakes a great and awful sensation in the 

Where only should this rule be put in practice, and why ? 
What is not the only organ of sensation by which a sublime passion may 
be produced? What else have a great power in these, as well as in most 
other passions? Why does not our author mean words? What only is 
sufficient to overpower the soul ? How is this illustrated ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 105 

mind, though we can observe no nicety or artifice in 
those sorts of music. The shouting of multitudes has 
a similar effect ; and, by the sole strength of the sound, 
so amazes and confounds the imagination, that, in this 
staggering and hurry of the mind, the best-established 
tempers can scarcely forbear being borne down, and 
joining in the common cry and common resolution of 
the crowd. 



SECTION XIX. 

SUDDENNESS. 

A SUDDEN beginning, or sudden cessation of sound 
of any considerable force, has the same power. The 
attention is roused by this, and the faculties driven 
forward, as it were, on their guard. Whatever, either 
in sights or sounds, makes the transition from one ex- 
treme to the other easy, causes no terror, and, conse- 
quently, can be no cause of greatness. In every thing- 
sudden and unexpected, we are apt to start ; that is, 
we have a perception of danger, and our nature rouses 
us to guard against it. It may be observed, that a 
single sound of strength, though but of short duration, 
if repeated after intervals, has a grand effect. Few 
things are more awful than the striking of a great 
clock, when the silence of the night prevents the at- 
tention from being too much dissipated. The same 
may be said of a single stroke of a drum, repeated 
with pauses ; and of the successive firing of a cannon 

What is remarked on the shouting of multitudes ? 
What is observed of a sudden beginning or sudden cessation of sound ? 
What causes no terror, and, consequently, can be no cause of greatness ? 
What is the effect of whatever is sudden or unexpected ? Of a single sound 
what may be observed ? How is this illustrated ? 



106 ON THE SUBLIME 

at a distance. All the effects mentioned in this section 
have causes very nearly alike. 



SECTION XX. 

INTERMITTING. 

A LOW, tremulous, intermitting sound, though it 
seems, in some respects, opposite to that just mention- 
ed, is productive of the sublime. It is v^^orth v^hile to 
examine this a little. The fact itself must be deter- 
mined by every man's ow^n experience and reflection. 
I have already observed* that night increases our ter- 
ror more, perhaps, than any thing else : it is our na- 
ture, v^hen we do not knov^^ what may happen to us, 
to fear the worst that can happen ; and hence it is that 
uncertainty is so terrible, that we often seek to be rid 
of it at the hazard of a certain mischief Now, some 
low, confused, uncertain sounds leave us in the same 
fearful anxiety concerning their causes, that no light, 
or an uncertain light, does concerning the objects that 
surround us : 

" Quale per incertam lunam sub luce maligna 
Est iter in sylvis." 

" A faint shadow of uncertain light, 
Like as a lamp, whose life doth fade away , 
Or as the moon, clothed with cloudy night, 
Doth show to him who walks in fear and great afiright." 

SPENSPR. 

But a light now appearing, and now leaving us, and so 

What is observed of a low, tremulous, intermitting sound ? How must 
this fact be determined ? What has already been observed ? WTiat is nat- 
ural? Of low, confused, and uncertain sounds, what is observed ? What 
example is given ? 

* Sect. lii. 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 107 

off and on, is even more terrible than total darkness ; 
and a sort of uncertain sounds are, when the necessa- 
ry dispositions concur, more alarming than a total si- 
lence. 



SECTION XXI. 

THE CRIES OF ANIMALS. 

Such sounds as imitate the natural inarticulate voi- 
ces of men, or any animals in pain or danger, are ca- 
pable of conveying great ideas, unless it be the well- 
knovi^n voice of some creature on which we are used 
to look with contempt. The angry tones of wild 
beasts are equally capable of causing a great and aw- 
ful sensation. 

" Hinc exaudiri gemitus, irasque leonum 
Vincla recusantum, et sera sub nocte rudentum ; 
Setigerique sues, atque in prsesepibus ursi 
Ssevire ; et formae magnorum ululare luporum." 

'* From hence were heard, rebello\ying to the mam, 
The roars of lions that refuse the chain, 
The grunts of bristled boars, and groans of bears, 
And herds of howling wolves that stun the sailor's ears. 

It might seem that these modulations of sound carry 
some connection with the nature of the things they 
represent, and are not merely arbitrary ; because the 
natural cries of all animals, even of those animals with 
whom we have not been acquainted, never fail to make 
themselves sufficiently understood : this can not be 
said of language. The modifications of sound, which 

What is even more terrible than darkness? and what is more alarming than 
a total silence ? 

What sounds are capable of conveying great ideas ? With what excep- 
tion ? What is observed of the angry tones of wild beasts ? Give the ex- 
ample. What is observed of theije modulations of sound? Why can not 
this be said of language ? 



108 ©N THE SUBLIME 

may be productive of the sublime, are almost infinite. 
Those I have mentioned are only a few instances, to 
show on what principle they are all built. 



SECTION XXII. 

SMELL AND TASTE, BITTERS AND STENCHES. 

Smells and taste have some share, too, in ideas of 
greatness ; but it is a small one, weak in its nature, 
and confined in its operations. I shall only observe, 
that no smells or tastes can produce a grand sensation 
except excessive bitters and intolerable stenches. It 
is true that these affections of the smell and taste, when 
they are in their full force, and lean directly upon the 
sensory, are simply painful, and accompanied with no 
sort of delight ; but when they are moderated, as in a 
description or narrative, they become sources of the 
sublime, as genuine as any other, and upon the very 
same principle as a moderated pain. " A cup of bit- 
terness" — " to drain the bitter cup of fortune" — " the 
bitter apples of Sodom ;" these are all ideas suitable to 
a sublime description. Nor is this passage of Virgil 
without sublimity, where the stench of the vapor in 
Albunea conspires so happily with the sacred horror 
and gloominess of that prophetic forest : 

" Et rex solicitus monstris oracula Fanni 
Fatidici genitoris adit, lucosque sub alta 
Consulit Albunea, nemorum quae maxima sacro 
Fonte sonat ; scevamque exhalat opaca Mephitim." 

Of smell and taste, what is observed? What smells only can produce a 
grand sensation ? When are these affections simply painful, and accompa- 
nied with no sort of delight ? When do they become sources of the sub- 
lime, and upon what principle? What examples of illustrations are giv- 
en ? Repeat those from Virgil, with the remarks upon them. 



Al^D BEAUTIFUL. l09 

'' Latinus, frighted with this dire ostent, 
For counsel to his father Fannus went, 
And sought the shades renown'd for prophecy, 
Which near Albunea's sulph'rous fountain lie." 

In the sixth book, and in a very sublime description, 
the poisonous exhalation of Acheron is not forgotten ; 
nor does it at all disagree with the other images among 
which it is introduced : 

" Spelunca alta fuit, vastoque immanis hiatu 
Scrupea, tuta lacu nigro, nemoruinque tenebris, 
Quani super haud ullae poterant impune volantes 
Tendere iter pennis, talis sese halkus atris 
Faucibus effundens super a ad convexa ferebat." 

" Deep was the cave ; and, downward as it went 
From the wide mouth, a rocky rough descent ; 
And here th' access a gloomy grove defends ; 
And here th' innavigable lake extends, 
O'er whose unhappy waters, void of light. 
No bird presumes to steer his airy flight ; 
Such deadly stenches from the depth arise, 
And streaming sulphur, that infects the skies." 

I have added these examples, because some friends, 
for whose judgment I have great deference, were of 
opinion that, if the sentiment stood nakedly by itself, it 
would be subject, at first view, to burlesque and ridi- 
cule ; but this, I imagine, would principally arise from 
considering the bitterness and stench in company with 
mean and contemptible ideas, with which, it must be 
owned, they are often united : such a union degrades 
the sublime in all other instances as well as in those. 
But it is one of the tests by which the subhmity of an 
image is to be tried, not whether it becomes mean 
when associated with mean ideas, but whether, when 
united with images of an allowed grandeur, the whole 
composition is supported with dignity. Things which 

Why were these examples given ? From what would this principally arise ? 
What is one of the tests by which a sublime image is to be tried ? 

K 



110 ON THE SUBLIME 

are terrible are always great ; but when things pos- 
sess disagreeable qualities, or such as have, indeed, 
some degree of danger, but of a danger easily over- 
come, they are merely odious, as toads and spiders. 



SECTION XXIII. 

FEELING. PAIN. 

Of /eeZm^, little more can be said than that the idea 
of bodily pain, in all the modes and degrees of labor, 
pain, anguish, torment, is productive of the sublime ; 
and nothing else, in this sense, can produce it. I need 
not give here any fresh instances, as those given in the 
former sections abundantly illustrate a remark that in 
reality wants only an attention to nature to be made 
by every body. 



Having thus run through the causes of the subhme 
with reference to all the senses, my first observation 
(sect, vii.) will be found very nearly true, that the sub- 
lime is an idea belonging to self-preservation ; that it 
is therefore one of the most afiecting we have ; that its 
strongest emotion is an emotion of distress ; and that 
no pleasure* from a positive cause belongs to it. Num- 

Of things that are terrible, and of things that possess disagreeable Qualities, 
what is observed ? 

Of feeling, little more than what can be said ? Why are fresh instances 
here unnecessary ? 

Having thus run through the causes of the sublime with reference to all 
the senses, what observation will be found to be nearly true ? 

* Vide part i., sect. vi. 



AND BEAUTIFUL. Ill 

berless examples, besides those mentioned, might be 
brought in support of these truths, and many, perhaps, 
useful consequences drawn from them : 

" Sed fugit interea, fugit irrevocabile tempus, 
Singula dum capti circumvectamur amore." 
" But in the mean while, irrevocable time flies away, while we are enga- 
ged in our favorite pursuit." 

Repeat the closing remark. 



113 ON THE SUBLIME 



PART III 

SECTION L 

OF BEAUTY. 

It is my design to consider beauty as distinguished 
from the sublime ; and, in the course of the inquiry, to 
examine how far it is consistent with it. But, pre- 
vious to this, we must take a short review of the opin- 
ions already entertained of this quality, which, I think, 
are hardly to be reduced to any fixed principles ; be- 
cause men are used to talk of beauty in a figurative 
manner, that is to say, in a manner extremely uncer- 
tain and indeterminate. By beauty, I mean that qual- 
ity, or those qualities in bodies by which they cause 
love, or some passion similar to it. I confine this def- 
inition to the merely sensible qualities of things, for the 
sake of preserving the utmost simplicity in a subject 
which must always distract us, whenever we take in 
those various causes of sympathy which attach us to 
any person or things from secondary considerations, 
and not from the direct force which they have merely 
on being viewed. I likewise distinguish love, by which 
I mean that satisfaction which arises to the mind upon 
contemplating any thing beautiful, of whatsoever na- 
ture it may be, from desire, which is an energy of the 
mind that hurries us on to the possession of certain ob- 

How is beauty to be considered ? Of what must we previously take a 
leview ? Why are those opinions hardly to be reduced to any fixed princi- 
ple ? What is here meant by beauty ? Why is this deiinition confined to 
the mere sensible qualities of things ? How is love likewise distinguished ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 113 

jects that do not affect us as they are beautiful, but by 
means altogether different. We shall have a strong 
desire for a woman of no remarkable beauty, while the 
greatest beauty in men, or in other animals, though it 
causes love, yet it excites nothing at all of desire ; 
which shows that beauty, and the passion caused by 
beauty, which I call love, is different from desire, 
though desire may sometimes operate along with it ; 
but it is to this latter that we must attribute those vio- 
lent and tempestuous passions, and the consequent emo- 
tions of the body which attend what is called love in 
some of its ordinary acceptations, and not to the ef- 
fects of beauty merely as it is such. 



SECTION II. 

PROPORTION NOT THE CAUSE OF BEAUTY IN VEGETABLES. 

Beauty has usually been said to consist in certain 
proportions of parts. On considering the matter, I 
have great reason to doubt whether beauty be at all 
an idea belonging to proportion. Proportion relates 
almost wholly to convenience, as every idea of order 
seems to do ; and it must, therefore, be considered as 
a creature of the understanding, rather than a prima- 
ry cause acting on the senses and imagination. It is 
not by the force of long attention and inquiry that we 
find an object to be beautiful : beauty demands no 
assistance from our reasoning ; even the will is uncon- 

What shows that beauty, or the passion caused bv beauty, is diflferent from 
desire ? What must we attribute to this latter ? 

In what has beauty usually been said to consist ? VThat is there, on 
consideration, great reason to doubt, and why ? What is observed of our 
perception of the beautiful ? 

K2 



114 ON THE SUBLIME 

cerned : the appearance of beauty as effectually causes 
some degree of love in us as the application of ice or 
fire produces the ideas of heat or cold. To gain some- 
thing like a satisfactory conclusion in this point, it 
were well to examine what proportion is, since several 
who make use of that word do not always seem to 
understand very clearly the force of the term, nor to 
have very distinct ideas concerning the thing itself. 
Proportion is the measure of relative quantity. Since 
all quantity is divisible, it is evident that every dis- 
tinct part into which any quantity is divided must 
bear some relation to the other parts, or to the whole. 
These relations give an origin to the idea of propor- 
tion. They are discovered by mensuration ; and they 
are the objects of mathematical inquiry. But whether 
any part of any determinate quantity be a fourth, or a 
fifth, or a sixth, or moiety of the whole ; or whether 
it be of equal length with any other part, or double its 
length, or but one half, is a matter merely indifferent 
to the mind ; it stands neuter in the question ; and it 
is from this absolute indifference and tranquilhty of 
the mind that mathematical speculations derive some 
of their most considerable advantages ; because there. 
is nothing to interest the imagination ; because the judg- 
ment sits free and unbiased to examine the point. All 
proportions, every arrangement of quantity, are alike 
to the understanding, because the same truths result to 
it from all ; from greater, from lesser, from equality 
and inequality. But surely beauty is no idea belong- 
To be satisfied of this, what examination is necessary, and why ? What is 
proportion ? From the divisibility of all quantity, what is evident ? What 
originate from these relations ? How are they discovered ? and of what 
are they the objects? What is a matter merely indifferent to the mind? 
What arises from this absolute indifference, and why ? Why are all pro- 
portions, and every arrangement of quantity, alike to the understanding? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 115 

ing to mensuration ; nor has it any thing to do with 
calculation and geometry. If it had, we might then 
point out some certain measures which we could dem- 
onstrate to be beautiful, either as simply considered, 
or as related to others ; and we could call in those 
natural objects, for whose beauty we have no voucher 
but the sense, to this happy standard, and confirm the 
voice of our passions by the determination of our rea- 
son. But, since we have not this help, let us see 
whether proportion can in any sense be considered as 
the cause of beauty, as has been so generally, and by 
some so confidently affirmed. If proportion be one 
of the constituents of beauty, it must derive that power 
either from some natural properties inherent in certain 
measures which operate mechanically, from the opera- 
tion of custom, or from the fitness which some meas- 
ures have to answer some particular ends of conve- 
nience. Our business, therefore, is. to inquire whether 
the parts of those objects, which are found beautiful in 
the vegetable or animal kingdoms, are constantly so 
formed according to such certain measures as may 
serve to satisfy us that their beauty results from those 
measures on the principle of a natural mechanical 
cause ; or from custom ; or, in fine, from their fitness 
for any determinate purposes. I intend to examine 
this point under each of these heads in their order. 
But, before I proceed farther, I hope it will not be 
thought amiss if I lay down the rules which governed 
me in this inquiry, and which have misled me in it, if 
I have gone astray. 3. If two bodies produce the 

With what has beauty nothing to do? If it had, what would be the con 
sequence ? If proportion be one of the constituents of beauty, from what 
must it derive that power ? What, therefore, is our business ? In what 
order is this point to be examined ? In this inquiry, what are the rules by 
which our author was governed ? 



116 ON THE SUBLIME 

same, or a similar effect, on the mind, and on exami- 
nation they are found to agree in some of their prop- 
erties, and to differ in others, the common effect is to 
be attributed to the properties in which they agree, 
and not to those in which they differ. 2. Not to ac- 
count for the effect of a natural object from the effect 
of an artificial object. 3. Not to account for the effect 
of any natural object from a conclusion of our reason 
concerning its uses, if a natural cause may be assigned. 
4. Not to admit any determinate quantity, or any rela- 
tion of quantity, as the cause of a certain effect, if the 
effect is produced by different or opposite measures 
and relations ; or if these measures and relations may 
exist, and yet the effect may not be produced. Those 
are the rules which 1 have chiefly followed while I ex- 
amined into the power of proportion considered as a 
natural cause ; and these, if he thinks them just, I re- 
quest the reader to carry with him throughout the fol- 
lowing discussion, while we inquire, in the first place, 
in what things we find this quality of beauty ; next, to 
see whether in these w^e can find any assignable pro- 
portions, in such a manner as ought to convince us 
that our idea of beauty results from them. We shall 
consider this pleasing power as it appears in vegeta- 
bles, in the inferior animals, and in man. Turning 
our eyes to the vegetable creation, we find nothing 
there so beautiful as flowers ; but flowers are almost 
of every sort of shape, and of every sort of disposition ; 
they are turned and fashioned into an infinite variety 
of forms ; and from these forms botanists have given 
them their names, which are almost as various. What 

While we are majking what inquiries is tlie reader requested to carry these 
rules with him ? As it appears, in what shall we consider this pleasing 
power ? What is remarked of the beauty of flowers ? 



ANt) BEAUTIFUL. Il7 

proportion do we discover between the stalks and the 
leaves of flowers, or between the leaves and the pis- 
tils ? How does the slender stalk of the rose agree 
with the bulky head under which it bends ? But the 
rose is a beautiful flower ; and can we undertake to 
say that it does not owe a great deal of its beauty 
even to that disproportion ? The rose is a large flower, 
yet it grows upon a small shrub : the flower of the 
apple is very small, and grows upon a large tree ; yet 
the rose and the apple-blossom are both beautiful, and 
the plants that bear them are most engagingly attired, 
notwithstanding this disproportion. What, by gener- 
al consent, is allowed to be a more beautiful object 
than an orange-tree, flourishing at once with its leaves, 
its blossoms, and its fruit ? But it is in vain that we 
search here for any proportion between the height, the 
breadth, or any thing else concerning the dimensions 
of the whole, or concerning the relation of the partic- 
ular parts to each other. I grant that we may ob- 
serve in many flowers something of a regular figure, 
and of a methodical disposition of the leaves. The 
rose has such a figure and such a disposition of its 
petals ; but, in an oblique view, when this figure is in 
a good measure lost, and the order of the leaves con- 
founded, it yet retains its beauty; the rose is even 
more beautiful before it is full blown ; and the bud, 
before this exact figure is formed : and this is not the 
only instance wherein method and exactness, the soul 
of proportion, are found rather prejudicial than ser- 
viceable to the cause of beauty. 

What is said of the rose, of the flower of the apple, and of the orange-tree ? 
For what do we here search in vain ? What is granted ? When is the 
rose most beautiful ? and of what is this not the only instance ? 



118 ON tHB SUBLIMiJ 

SECTION III. 

PROPORTION NOT THE CAUSE OF BEAUTY IN ANIMALS. 

That proportion has but a small share in the forma- 
tion of beauty, is full as evident among animals. Here 
the greatest variety of shapes and disproportions of 
parts are well fitted to excite this idea. The sw^an, 
confessedly a beautiful bird, has a neck longer than the 
rest of his body, and but a very short tail : is this a 
beautiful proportion ? We must allows that it is. But, 
then, what shall we say to the peacock, who has com- 
paratively but a short neck, with a tail longer than the 
neck and the rest of the body taken together? How 
many birds are there that vary infinitely from each of 
these standards, and from every other which you can 
fix, with proportions different, and often directly oppo- 
site to each other ! and yet many of these birds are 
extremely beautiful ; when, upon considering them, 
we find nothing in any one part that might determine 
us, a priori, to say what the others ought to be, nor, 
indeed, to guess any thing about them, but what expe- 
rience might show to be full of disappointment and 
mistake. And with regard to the colors, either of 
birds or flowers, for there is something similar in the 
coloring of both, whether they are considered in their 
extension or gradation, there is nothing of proportion 
to be observed. Some are of but one single color, 
others have all the colors of the rainbow ; some are 
of the primary colors, others are of the mixed ; in short, 
an attentive observer may soon conclude that there is 

From what consideration does it appear evident that proportion has but a 
small share in the formation of beauty among animals ? How is this illus- 
trated in the swan? and also in the peacock? What is farther remarked 
on the proportion of birds ? With regard to the colors, either of birds or 
flowers, what is said ? What may an attentive observer soon conclude ? 



And beautiful. 119 

as little of proportion in the coloring as in the shapes of 
these objects. Turn next to beasts : examine the head 
of a beautiful horse ; find what proportion that bears 
to his body, and to his limbs, and what relations these 
have to each other ; and when you have settled these 
proportions as a standard of beauty, then take a dog 
or cat, or any other animal, and examine how far the 
same proportions between their heads and their neck, 
between those and the body, and so on, are found to 
hold : I think we may safely say that they differ in ev; 
ery species ; yet that there are individuals found in a 
great many species so differing that have a very strik- 
ing beauty. Now if it be allowed that very differ- 
ent, and even contrary, forms and dispositions are con- 
sistent with beauty, it amounts, I believe, to a conces- 
sion that no certain measures, operating from a natural 
principle, are necessary to produce it, at least so far 
as the brute species is concerned. 



SECTION IV. 

PROPORTION NOT THE CAUSE OF BEAUTY IN THE HUMAN 
SPECIES. 

There are some parts of the human body that are 
observed to hold certain proportions to each other ; 
but, before it can be proved that the efficient cause of 
beauty lies in these, it must be shown that, wherever 
these are found exact, the person to whom they belong 

How is this principle farther illustrated from a horse, and a dog or a cat ? 
If, then, it be allowed that very different and even contrary forms and dispo- 
sitions are consistent with beauty, to what does it amount? 

Before it can be proved that the efficient cause of beauty lies in those 
parts of the human body that hold certain proportions to each other, what 
must be shown ? By this, what is meant ? 



120 ON THE SUBLIME 

is beautiful : I mean in the effect produced on the view, 
either of any member distinctly considered, or of the 
whole body together. It must be likewise shown that 
these parts stand in such a relation to each other that 
the comparison between them may be easily made, 
and that the affection of the mind may naturally result 
from it. For my part, I have at several times very 
carefully examined many of those proportions, and 
found them hold very nearly, or altogether alike, in 
many subjects, which were not only very different 
from one another, but where one has been very beau- 
tiful, and the other very remote from beauty. With 
regard to the parts which are found so proportioned, 
they are often so remote from each other in situation, 
nature, and office, that I can not. see how they admit 
of any comparison, nor, consequently, how any effect 
owing to proportion can result from them. The neck, 
say they, in beautiful bodies, should measure with the 
calf of the leg ; it should likewise be twice the circum- 
ference of the wrist. And an infinity of observations 
of this kind are to be found in the writings and con- 
versations of many. But what relation has the calf of 
the leg to the neck, or either of these parts to the wrist ? 
These proportions are certainly to be found in hand- 
some bodies. They are as certainly in ugly ones, as 
any who will take the pains to try may find. Nay, I 
do not know but they may be the least perfect in some 
of the most beautiful. You may assign any propor- 
tions you please to every part of the human body ; and 
I undertake that a painter shall religiously observe them 
all, and notwithstanding produce, if he pleases, a very 

What must likewise be shown? On examination, what has our author 
found ? Of the parts that are found so proportioned, what is observed ? 
What examples are given ? and what is said of them ? How may these re- 
marks be illustrated in painting? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 121 

Ugly figure. The same painter shall considerably de- 
viate from these proportions, and produce a very beau- 
tiful one. And, indeed, it may be observed in the mas- 
ter-pieces of the ancient and modern statuary, that sev- 
eral of them differ very widely from the proportions 
of others, in parts very conspicuous, and of great con- 
sideration ; and that they differ no less from the pro- 
portions we find in living men of forms extremely 
striking and agreeable. And, after all, how are the 
partisans of proportional beauty agreed among them- 
selves about the proportions of the human body ? Some 
hold it to be seven heads ; some make it eight ; while 
others extend it even to ten ; a vast difference in such- 
a small number of divisions ! Others take other meth- 
ods of estimating the proportions, and all with equal 
success. But are these proportions exactly the same 
in all handsome men, or are they at all the proportions 
found in beautiful women ? Nobody will say that they 
are ; yet both sexes are undoubtedly capable of beau- 
ty, and the female of the greatest ; which advantage, 
I believe, will hardly be attributed to the superior ex- 
actness of proportion in the fair sex. Let us rest a 
moment on this point, and consider how much differ- 
ence there is between the measures that prevail in 
many similar parts of the body, in the two sexes, of 
this single species alone. If you assign any determi- 
nate proportions to the limbs of a man, and if you lim- 
it human beauty to these proportions, when }^ou find a 
woman who differs in the make and measures of al- 

Of the master-pieces of ancient and modern statuary what may be observ- 
ed ? What differences of opinion have obtained among the partisans of 
proportional beauty themselves? Though these proportions are not the 
same, either in handsome men or women, yet what follows ? On what are 
we requested to pause and reflect ? How is the effect of this difference il- 
lustrated, and why ? 

L 



122 ON THE SUBLIME 

most every part, you must conclude her not to be beau- 
tiful, in spite of the suggestions of your imagination ; 
or, in obedience to your imagination, you must re- 
nounce your rules ; you must lay by the scale and 
compass, and look out for some other cause of beauty ; 
for, if beauty be attached to certain measures, which 
operate from a principle in nature, why should simi- 
lar parts, with different measures of proportion, be 
found to have beauty, and this, too, in the very same 
species ? But, to open our view a little, it is worth ob- 
serving, that almost all animals have parts of very 
much the same nature, and destined nearly to the same 
purposes ; a head, neck, body, feet, eyes, ears, nose, 
and mouth ; yet Providence, to provide in the best 
manner for their several wants, and to display the rich- 
es of his wisdom and goodness in his creation, has 
worked out of these few and similar organs and mem- 
bers a diversity hardly short of infinite in their dispo- 
sition, measures, and relation. But, as we have befjre 
observed, amid this infinite diversity, one particular 
is common to many species ; several of the individ- 
uals which compose them are capable of affecting us 
with a sense of loveliness ; and while they agree in 
producing this effect, they differ extremely in the rela- 
tive measures of those parts which have produced it. 
These considerations were sufficient to induce me to 
reject the notion of any particular proportions that op- 
erated by nature to produce a pleasing effect ; but 
those who will agree with me with regard to a partic- 
ular proportion, are strongly prepossessed in favor of 



In extending our view, what is worth observing? But amid this infinite 
diversity, what principle is common to many species? For what were 
these considerations sufficient ? What do those imagine who are still 
strongly prepossessed in favor of an indefinite proportion ? 



And beautiful. 123 

one more indefinite. They imagine, that although 
beauty in general is annexed to no certain measures 
common to the several kinds of pleasing plants and 
animals, yet that there is a certain proportion in each 
species absolutely essential to the beauty of that par- 
ticular kind. If we consider the animal world in gen- 
eral, we find beauty confined to no certain measures ; 
but, as some peculiar measure and relation of parts is 
what distinguishes each pecuHar class of animals, it 
must, of necessity, be that the beautiful in each kind 
will be found in the measures and proportions of that 
kind ; for otherwise it would deviate from its proper 
species, and become in some sort monstrous : howev- 
er, no species is so strictly confined to any certain pro- 
portions that there is not a considerable variation 
among the individuals ; and as it has been shown of 
the human, so it may be shown of the brute kinds, that 
beauty is found indiflferently in all the proportions which 
each kind can admit, without quitting its common form ; 
and it is this idea of common form that makes the pro- 
portion of parts at all regarded, and not the operation 
of any natural cause : indeed, a little consideration will 
make it appear that it is not measure, but manner that 
creates all the beauty which belongs to shape. What 
light do we borrow from these boasted proportions 
when we study ornamental design ? It seems amaz- 
ing to me that artists, if they were as well convinced 
as they pretend to be that proportion is a principal 
cause of beauty, have not by them at all times accu- 
rate measurements of all sorts of beautiful animals, to 

In considering the animal world in general, what do we find ? As some 
peculiar measure and relation of parts is what distinguishes each peculiar 
class of animals, what necessarily follows ? What is it that makes the pro- 
portion of parts at all regarded ? A little consideration will make what ap- 
pear ? What seems a matter of amazement, and why ? 



124 ON THE SUBLIME 

help them to proper proportions when they would con- 
trive any thing elegant, especially as they frequently 
assert that it is from an observation of the beautiful in 
nature they direct their practice. I know that it has 
been said long since, and echoed backward and for- 
ward from one wi'iter to another a thousand times, 
that the proportions of building have been taken from 
those of the human body. To make this forced anal- 
ogy complete, they represent a man with his arms 
raised and extended at full length, and then describe a 
sort of square, as it is formed by passing lines along 
the extremities of this strange figure. But it appears 
very clearly to me that the human figure never sup- 
plied the architect with any of his ideas ; for, in the 
first place, men are very rarely seen in this strained 
posture ; it is not natural to them, neither is it at all be- 
coming. Secondly, the view of the human figure so 
disposed does not naturally suggest the idea of a square, 
but rather of a cross, as that large space between the 
arms and the ground must be filled with something be- 
fore it can make any body think of a square. Thirdly, 
several buildings are by no m.eans of the form of that 
particular square, which are, notwithstanding, planned 
by the best architects, and produce an effect altogeth- 
er as good, and perhaps a better. And certainly noth- 
ing could be more unaccountably whimsical than for 
an architect to model his performance by the human 
figure, since no two thmgs can have less resemblance 
or analogy than a man and a house or temple : do we 
need to observe that their purposes are entirely differ- 

What has long since been said ? How is this forced analogy made com- 
plete ? From what considerations does it appear evident that the human 
figure never supplied the architect with any of his ideas ? Why would it 
be whimsical for an architect to model his performance by the human fig- 
ure? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 125 

ent ? What I am apt to suspect is this, that these anal- 
ogies were devised to give a credit to the works of art, 
by showing a conformity between them and the no- 
blest works in nature ; not that the latter served at 
all to supply hints for the perfection of the former. 
And I am the more fully convinced that the patrons of 
proportion have transferred their artificial ideas to na- 
ture, and not borrowed from thence the proportions 
they use in works of art ; because, in any discussion 
of this subject, they always quit, as soon as possible, 
the open field of natural beauties, the animal and veg- 
etable kingdoms, and fortify themselves within the ar- 
tificial lines and angles of architecture ; for there is 
in mankind an unfortunate propensity to make them- 
selves, their views, and their works, the measure of ex- 
cellence in every thing whatsoever. Therefore, hav- 
ing observed that their dwellings were most commo- 
dious and firm when they were thrown into regular 
figures, with parts answerable to each other, they trans- 
ferred these ideas to their gardens ; they turned their 
trees into pillars, pyramids, and obelisks ; they formed 
their hedges into so many green walls, and fashioned 
the walks into squares, triangles, and other mathemat- 
ical figures, with exactness and symmetry ; and they 
thought, if they were not imitating, they were at least 
improving Nature, and teaching her to know her busi- 
ness. But Nature has at last escaped from their dis- 
cipline and their fetters ; and our gardens, if nothing 
else, declare we begin to feel that mathematical ideas 
are not the true measures of beauty. And surely they 



For what purpose is it probable that these analogies were devised ? Of 
what is our author fully convinced, and why ? What unfortunate propen- 
sity is there in mankind ? How is this remark illustrated ? From what 
has Nature escaped ? and what is the consequence ? 

h2 



126 ON THE SUBLIME 

are full as little so in the animal as the vegetable world : 
for is it not extraordinary that, in these fine descriptive 
pieces, these innumerable odes and elegies, which are 
in the mouths of all the world, and many of which 
have been the entertainment of ages — that in these pie- 
ces, which describe love with so passionate an energy, 
and represent its objects in so infinite a variety of lights, 
not one word is said of proportion, if it be, what some 
insist it is, the principal component of beauty ; while, 
at the same time, several other qualities are very fre- 
quently and warmly mentioned ? But, if proportion 
has not this power, it may appear odd how men came 
originally to be so prepossessed in its favor. It arose, 
I imagine, from the fondness I have just mentioned, 
which men bear so remarkably to their own works 
and notions ; it arose from false reasonings on the ef- 
fects of the customary figure of animals ; it arose from 
the Platonic theory of fitness and aptitude ; for which 
reason, in the next section, I shall consider the effects 
of custom in the figure of animals ; and, afterward, the 
idea of fitness ; since, if proportion does not operate by 
a natural power attending some measures, it must be 
either by custom or the idea of utility ; there is no oth- 
er way. 



SECTION V. 

PROPORTION FARTHER CONSIDERED. 

If I am not mistaken, a great deal of the prejudice 

How does it appear that they are full as little so in the animal as in the 
vegetable world ? How, then, came men to be so prepossessed in favor of 
proportion ? What shall, therefore, be the subject of the next section ? 
From what has a great deal of the prejudice in favor of proportion arisen ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 127 

in favor of proportion has arisen, not so much from the 
observation of any certain measures found in beautiful 
bodies, as from a wrong idea of the relation which de- 
formity bears to beauty, to which it has been consid- 
ered as the opposite : on this principle it was conclu- 
ded that, where the causes of deformity were removed, 
beauty must naturally and necessarily be introduced. 
This, I believe, is a mistake ; for deformity is opposed, 
not to beauty, but to the complete common form. If 
one of the legs of a man be found shorter than the 
other, the man is deformed, because there is something 
wanting to complete the whole idea we form of a 
man ; and this has the same effect, in natural faults, as 
maiming and mutilation produced from accidents. So, 
if the back be humped, the man is deformed ; because 
his back has an unusual figure, and what carries with 
it the idea of some disease or misfortune : so, if a 
man's neck be considerably longer or shorter than usu- 
al, we say he is deformed in that part, because men 
are not commonly made in that manner. But surely 
every hour's experience may convince us that a man 
may have his legs of an equal length, and resembling 
each other in all respects ; and his neck of a just size, 
and his back quite straight, without having, at the same 
time, the least perceivable beauty. Indeed, beauty is 
so far from belonging to the idea of custom, that, in 
reality, what affects us in that manner is extremely 
rare and uncommon. The beautiful strikes us as 
much by its novelty as the deformed itself It is thus 
in those species of animals with which we are ac- 
quainted ; and, if one of a new species were represent- 
On this principle, what was conchided ? Why is this a mistake ? and how 
is it illustrated from a man's leg, back, or neck? But of what may every 
hour's experience convince us? How does the beautiful strike us? 



128 ON THE SUBLIME 

ed, we should by no means wait until custom had set- 
tled an idea of proportion before we decided concern- 
ing its beauty or uglmess ; which shows that the gen- 
eral idea of beauty can be no more owing to custom- 
ary than to natural proportion. Deformity arises from 
the want of the common proportions ; but the necessa- 
ry result of their existence m any object is not beauty. 
If we suppose proportion in natural things to be rela- 
tive to custom and use, the nature of use and custom 
will show that beauty, which is a. positive and power- 
ful quality, can not result from it. We are so won- 
derfully formed, that, while we are creatures vehe- 
mently desirous of novelty, we are as strongly attached 
to habit and custom. But it is the nature of things 
which hold us by custom to affect us very little while 
we are in possession of them, but strongly when they 
are absent. I remember to have frequented a certain 
place every day, for a long time together ; and I may 
truly say that, so far from finding pleasure in it, I was 
affected with a sort of weariness and disgust ; I came, 
I went, I returned, without pleasure ; yet, if by any 
means I passed by the usual time of going thither, I 
was remarkably uneasy, and was not quiet till I had 
got into my old track. They who use snufFtake it al- 
most without being sensible that they take it, and the 
acute sense of smell is deadened so as to feel hardly 
any thing from so sharp a stimulus ; yet, deprive the 
snuff-taker of his box, and he is the most uneasy mor- 
tal in the world. Indeed, so far are use and habit 

What shows that the general idea of beauty is not more owing to customa- 
ry than to natural proportion? From what does deformity arise ? Why, 
then, is not beauty the necessary result of their existence in any object? 
What results from the wonderful manner in which we are formed ? How 
do things which we hold by custom aflfect us ? How is this remark illus- 
trated? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 129 

from being causes of pleasure, merely as such, that 
the effect of constant use is to make all things, of what- 
ever kind, entirely unaffecting : for, as use at last takes 
off the painful effect of many things, it reduces the 
pleasurable effect of others in the same manner, and 
brings both to a sort of mediocrity and indifference. 
Very justly is use called a second nature ; and our 
natural and common state is one of absolute indiffer- 
ence, equally prepared for pain or pleasure. But 
when we are thrown out of this state, or deprived of 
any thing requisite to maintain us in it ; when this 
change does not happen by pleasure from some me- 
chanical cause, we are always hurt. It is so with the 
second nature, custom, in all things which relate to it. 
Thus, the Vv^ant of the usual proportions in men and 
other animals is sure to disgust, though their presence 
is by no means any cause of real pleasure. It is true 
that the proportions laid down as causes of beauty in 
the human body are frequently found in beautiful ones, 
because they are generally found in all mankind ; but 
if it can be shown, too, that they are found with- 
out beauty, and that beauty frequently exists without 
them, and that this beauty, where it exists, always can 
be assigned to other less equivocal causes, it will nat- 
urally lead us to conclude that proportion and beauty 
are not ideas of the same nature. The true opposite 
to beauty is not disproportion or deformity, but ugli- 
ness ; and, as it proceeds from causes opposite to 
those of positive beauty, we can not consider it until 

What is the effect of constant use, and why? What is use very justly 
called ? and of our natural and common state, what is remarked ? What 
effect is produced when we are thrown out of this state ? How does it 
appear that it is so with custom in all things ? As the proportions laid 
down as causes of beauty in the human body are frequently found in beau- 
tiful ones, why is this no argument against our doctrine? What is the 
true opposite to beauty ? and why can we not consider it at present ? 



130 ON THE SUBLIME 

we come to treat of that. Between beauty and ugli- 
ness there is a sort of mediocrity, in which the assign- 
ed proportions are most commonly found ; but this has 
no effect upon the passions. 



SECTION VI. 

FITNESS NOT THE CAUSE OF BEAUTY. 

It is said that the idea of utility, or of a part being 
well adapted to answer its end, is the cause of beauty, 
or, indeed, beauty itself. If it were not for this opin- 
ion, it had been impossible for the doctrine of propor- 
tion to have held its ground very long ; the world would 
be soon weary of hearing of measures which related 
to nothing either of a natural principle, or of a fitness 
to answer some end: the idea which mankind most 
commonly conceive of proportion is the suitableness 
of means to certain ends, and where this is not the 
question, very seldom trouble themselves about the ef- 
fect of different measures of things : therefore it was 
necessary for this theory to insist, that not only artifi- 
cial, but natural objects took their beauty from the fit- 
ness of the parts for their several purposes. But, in 
framing this theory, I am apprehensive that experience 
was not sufficiently consulted; for, on that principle, 
the wedge-like snout of a swine, with its tough carti- 
lage at the end, the little sunk eyes, and the whole 
make of the head, so well adapted to its offices of dig- 
Between beauty and ugliness what is found ? 
Of utility, what idea has prevailed ? What has been the effect of this 
opinion ? Of what would the world soon be weary of hearing ? What idea 
do mankind most commonly conceive of proportion ? To support this 
theory, what was necessary? From what examples does it appear evident 
that experience was not consulted in framing this theory ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 131 

ging and rooting, would be extremely beautiful. The 
great bag hangmg to the bill of a pelican, a thing high- 
ly useful to this animal, would be likewise beautiful in 
our eyes. The hedgehog, so well secured against all 
assaults by his prickly hide, and the porcupine with his 
missile quills, would be then considered as creatures of 
no small elegance. There are few animals whose parts 
are better contrived than those of a monkey : he has 
the hands of a man, joined to the springy Hmbs of a 
beast : he is admirably calculated for running, leaping, 
grappling, and climbing ; and yet there are few ani- 
mals which seem to have less beauty in the eyes of all 
mankind. I need say little on the trunk of the elephant, 
of such various usefulness, and which is so far from 
contributing to his beauty. How well fitted is the 
wolf for running and leaping ! how admirably is the 
lion armed for battle ! but will any one, therefore, call 
the elephant, the wolf, and the lion, beautiful animals? 
I believe no body will think the form of a man's legs 
so well adapted to running as those of a horse, a dog, 
a deer, and several other creatures ; at least they have 
not that appearance : yet I believe a well-fashioned hu- 
man leg will be allowed far to exceed all these in beau- 
ty. If the fitness of parts were what constituted the 
loveliness of their form, the actual employment of them 
would undoubtedly much augment it ; but this, though 
it is sometimes so upon another principle, is far from 
being always the case. A bird on the wing is not so 
beautiful as when it is perched ; nay, there are sever- 
al of the domestic fowls which a.re seldom seen to fly, 
and which are not the less beautiful on that account ; 
yet birds are so extremely different in their form from 

If the fitness of parts were what constituted the lovehness of the form, 
what would follow ? Jiow does it app^far evident that this is not the case ? 



132 ON THE SUBLIME 

the beast and human kinds, that you can not, on the 
principle of fitness, allow them any thing agreeable, 
but in consideration of their parts being designed for 
quite other purposes. I never in my life chanced to 
see a peacock fly ; and yet before, very long before I 
considered any aptitude in his form for the aerial life, 
I vv^as struck w^ith the extreme beauty which raises that 
bird above many of the best flying fowls in the world, 
though, for any thing I saw, his way of living was much 
hke that of the swine which fed in the farm-yard along 
with him. The same may be said of cocks, hens, and 
the like ; they are of the flying kind in figure, in their 
manner of moving not very different from men and 
beasts. To leave these foreign examples : if beauty in 
our own species was annexed to use, men would be 
much more lovely than women, and strength and agil- 
ity would be considered as the only beauties. But to 
call strength by the name of beauty, to have but one 
denomination for the qualities of a Venus and Hercu- 
les, so totally different in almost all respects, is surely 
a strange confusion of ideas, or abuse of words. The 
cause of this confusion, I imagine, proceeds from our 
frequently perceiving the parts of the human and oth- 
er animal bodies to be at once very beautiful, and very 
well adapted to their purposes ; and we are deceived 
by a sophism, which makes us take that for a cause 
which is only a concomitant : this is the sophism of the 
fly, who imagined he raised a great dust, because he 
stood upon the chariot that really raised it. The stom- 
ach, the lungs, the liver, as well as other parts, are in- 

Of the peacock, what is observed ? Of what may the same be said ? Of 
beauty in our own species being annexed to use, what is remarked ? What 
is really a strange confusion of ideas, or abuse of words ? From what does 
the cause of this confusion proceed ? and how illustrated 1 



AND BEAUTIFUL* 133 

comparably well adapted to their purposes ; yet they 
are far from having any beauty. Again : many things 
are very beautiful, in which it is impossible to discern 
any idea of use. And I appeal to the first and most 
natural feelings of mankind, whether, on beholding a 
beautiful eye, or a well-fashioned mouth, or a well- 
turned leg, any ideas of their being well fitted for see- 
ing, eating, or running, ever present themselves ? What 
idea of use is it that flowers excite, the most beautiful 
part of the vegetable world? It is true that the in- 
finitely wise and good Creator has, of his bounty, fre- 
quently joined beauty to those things which he has 
made useful to us, but this does not prove that an idea 
of use and beauty are the same thing, or that they are 
any way dependent on each other. 



SECTION VII. 

THE REAL EFFECTS OF FITNESS. 

When I excluded proportion and fitness from any 
share in beauty, I did not, by any means, intend to say 
that they were of no value, or that they ought to be dis* 
regarded in works of art. Works of art are the proper 
sphere of their power ; and here it is that they have 
their full effect. Whenever the wisdom of our Creator 
intended that we should be affected with any thing, 
he did not confine the execution of his design to the 
languid and precarious operation of our reason ; but 

Farther to illustrate this subject, to what does our author appeal ? What 
is acknowledged ? but what does this not prove ? 

What was not intended to be said when proportion and fitness were ex- 
cluded from any share in beauty, and why ? Whenever the wisdom of our 
Creator intended that we should be affected with any thing, with what did 
he endue our reason ? __ 

M . 



134 ON THE SUBLIME 

he endued it with powers and properties that prevent 
the understanding, and even the will, which, seizing 
upcm the senses and imagination, captivate the soul 
before the understanding is ready either to join with 
them or to oppose them. It is by a long deduction 
and much study that we discover the adorable wis- 
dom of God in his works : when we discover it, the 
effect is very different, not only in the manner of ac- 
quiring it, but in its own nature, from that which 
strikes us without any preparation from the sublime or 
the beautiful. How different is the satisfaction of the 
anatomist, who discovers the use of the muscles and 
of the skin, the excellent contrivance of the one for the 
various movements of the body, and the wonderful 
texture of the other, at once a general covering, and 
at once a general outlet as well as inlet ; how different 
is this from the affection which possesses an ordinary 
man at the sight of a delicate, smooth skin, and all 
the other parts of beauty, which require no investiga- 
tion to be perceived ! In the former case, while we 
look up to the Maker with admiration and praise, the 
object which causes it may be odious and distasteful ; 
the latter very often so touches us by its power on the 
imagination, that we examine but little into the artifice 
of its contrivance ; and we have need of a strong ef- 
fort of our reason to disentangle our minds from the 
allurements of the object to a consideration of that wis- 
dom which invented so powerful a machine. The ef- 
fect of proportion and fitness, at least so far as they 
proceed from a mere consideration of the work itself, 

How is it that we discover the adorable wisdom of God in his works ? 
When we do discover it, from what is the effect very different ? From 
the discoveries of the anatomist, and an ordinary man, how is this illustra- 
ted ? What is the effect of the former, and of the latter ? What effect do 
proportion and fitness produce ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 135 

produce approbation, the acquiescence of the under- 
standing, but not love, nor any passion of that species. 
When we examine the structure of a watch, when we 
come to know thoroughly the use of every part of it, 
satisfied as we are with the fitness of the whole, we 
are far enough from perceiving any thing like beauty 
in the watchwork itself; but let us look on the case, 
the labor of some curious artist in engraving, with lit- 
tle or no idea of use, we shall have a much livelier 
idea of beauty than we ever could have had from the 
watch itself, though the master-piece of Graham. In 
beauty, as I said, the effect is previous to any knowl- 
edge of the use ; but to judge of proportion, we must 
know the end for which any work is designed. Ac- 
cording to the end the proportion varies. Thus, there 
is one proportion of a tower, another of a house ; one 
proportion of a gallery, another of a hall, another of a 
chamber. To judge of the proportions of these, you 
must be first acquainted with the purposes for which 
they were designed. Good sense and experience, act- 
ing together, find out what is fit to be done in every 
work of art. We are rational creatures, and in all our 
works we ought to regard their end and purpose ; the 
gratification of any passion, how innocent soever, 
ought only to be of secondary consideration. Herein 
is placed the real power of fitness and proportion ; 
they operate on the understanding considering them, 
which approves the work, and acquiesces in it. The 
passions, and the imagination, which principally raises 

How is this remark illustrated in the examination of a watch ? In beauty, 
to what is the effect previous ? To judge of proportion, what knowledge 
is necessary ? How is this illustrated ? By what do we find out what is fit 
to be done in every work of art ? Being rational creatures in all our works, 
what ought we to regard, and why ? Herein is placed what ? and on what 
do they operate ? Of the passions and the imagination, what is observed ? 



136 ON THE SUBLIME 

them, have here very little to do. When a room ap- 
pears in its original nakedness, bare walls and plain 
ceiling, let its proportion be ever so excellent, it pleases 
very little ; a cold approbation is the utmost we can 
reach : a much worse-proportioned room, with elegant 
mouldings and fine festoons, glasses, and other merely 
ornamental furniture, will make the imagination revolt 
against the reason ; it will please much more than the 
naked proportion of the first room, which the under- 
standing has so much approved as admirably fitted for 
its purposes. What I have here said, and before, con- 
cerning proportion, is by no means to persuade people 
absurdly to neglect the idea of use in the works of art. 
It is only to show that these excellent things, beauty 
and proportion, are not the same ; not that they should 
either of them be disregarded. 



SECTION VIII. 

THE RECAPITULATION. 

On the whole : if such parts in human bodies as are 
found proportioned were likewise constantly found 
beautiful, as they certainly are not ; or if they were so 
situated as that a pleasure might flow from the com- 
parison, which they seldom are ; or if any assignable 
proportions were found, either in plants or animals, 
which were always attended with beauty, which never 
was the case ; or if, where parts were well adapted to 
their purposes, they were constantly beautiful, and, 
when no use appeared, there was no beauty, which is 

What illustration follows ? For what is what is here said intended ? 

Under what circumstances might we conclude that beauty consists in 
proportion or utility ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 137 

contrary to all experience, we might conclude that 
beauty consisted in proportion or utility. But since, 
in all respects, the case is quite otherwise, we may be 
satisfied that beauty does not depend on these, let it 
owe its origin to what else it will. 



SECTION IX. 

PERFECTION NOT THE CAUSE OF BEAUTY. 

There is another notion current, pretty closely allied 
to the former, that Perfection is the constituent cause 
of beauty. This opinion has been made to extend 
much farther than to sensible objects. But in these, 
so far is perfection, considered as such, from being the 
cause of beauty, that this quahty, where it is highest, 
in the female sex, almost always carries with it an idea 
of weakness and imperfection. Women are very sen- 
sible of this; for which reason they learn to lisp, to 
totter in their walk, to counterfeit weakness, and even 
sickness. In all this they are guided by nature. Beau- 
ty in distress is much the most affecting beauty. Blush- 
ing has little less power ; and modesty in general, which 
is a tacit allowance of imperfection, is itself considered 
as an amiable quality, and certainly heightens every 
other that is so. I know it is in every body's mouth 
that we ought to love perfection. This is to me a suf- 
ficient proof that it is not the proper object of love. 

But since the case is quite otherwise, of what may we be satisfied ? 

What other notion, closely allied to the former, is current ? How does 
it appear that perfection, considered as such, is not the cause of beauty in 
sensible objects ? What evidence have we that women are sensible of this ? 
In all this, by what are they guided, and why? Of blushing and modesty 
what is observed ? Of what is the common remark, that we ought to lovg 
perfection, a sufficient proof, and why ? 

M2 



138 ON THE SUBLIME 

Who ever said we ought to love a fine woman, or even 
any of those beautiful animals which please us ? Here, 
to be affected, there is no need of the concurrence of 
our will. 



SECTION X. 

HOW FAR THE IDEA OF BEAUTY MAY BE APPLIED TO THE 
QUALITIES OF THE MIND. 

Nor is this remark, in general, less applicable to the 
qualities of the mind. Those virtues which cause ad- 
miration, and are of the sublimer kind, produce terror 
rather than love ; such as fortitude, justice, wisdom, 
and the like. Never was any man amiable by force 
of these qualities. Those which engage our hearts, 
which impress us with a sense of loveliness, are the 
softer virtues ; easiness of temper, compassion, kind- 
ness, and liberality ; though certainly those latter are 
of less immediate and momentous concern to society, 
and of less dignity. But it is for that reason that they 
are so amiable. The great virtues turn principally 
on dangers, punishments, and troubles, and are exer- 
cised rather in preventing the worst mischiefs than in 
dispensing favors ; and are therefore not lovely, though 
highly venerable. The subordinate turn on reliefs, 
gratifications, and indulgences ; and are therefore more 
lovely, though inferior in dignity. Those persons who 
creep into the hearts of most people, who are chosen 
as the companions of their softer hours, and their re- 

From what does it appear that the preceding remark is not less applicable 
to the mind ? Which are the virtues that engage our hearts ? and what is 
said of them ? Upon what do the great virtues principally turn ? and how 
are they exercised? Upon what do the subordinate turn ? What persons 
are most apt to be chosen as the companions of our softer hours ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 139 

Iiefs from care and anxiety, are never persons of shin- 
ing qualities nor strong virtues. It is rather the soft 
green of the soul on w^hich we rest our eyes, that are 
fatigued with beholding more glaring objects. It is 
worth observing how we feel ourselves affected in 
reading the characters of Caesar and Cato, as they are 
so finely drawn and contrasted in Sallust. In one, the 
ignoscendo, largiundo ; in the other, nil largiundo. In 
one, the miseris perfugium ; in the other, malis perni- 
cie?n. In the latter we have much to admire, much to 
reverence, and perhaps something to fear ; we respect 
him, but we respect him at a distance. The former 
makes us familiar with him; we love him, and he 
leads us whither he pleases. To draw things closer 
to our first and most natural feelings, I will add a re- 
mark made upon reading this section by an ingenious 
friend. The authority of a father, so useful to our well- 
being, and so justly venerable upon all accounts, hinders 
us from having that entire loA^e for him that we have 
for our mothers, where the paternal authority is almost 
melted down into the mother's fondness and indul- 
gence. But we generally have a great love for our 
grandfathers, in whom this authority is removed a de- 
gree from us, and where the weakness of age mellows 
it into something of a feminine partiality. 

On what is it that we rest our eyes ? By what examples are these remarks 
illustrated ? In the latter what have we ? and what have we in the for- 
mer ? To draw things closer to our first and most natural feelings, what 
remark is added ? 



140 ON THE SUBLIME 



SECTION XL 

HOW FAR THE IDEA OF BEAUTY MAY BE APPLIED TO 
VIRTUE. 

From what has been said in the foregoing section, 
we may easily see how far the application of beauty 
to virtue may be made with propriety. The general 
application of this quality to virtue has a strong ten- 
dency to confound our ideas of things, and it has 
given rise to an infinite deal of whimsical theory ; as 
affixing the name of beauty to proportion, congruity, 
and perfection, as well as to qualities of things yet 
more remote from our natural ideas of it, and from one 
another, has tended to confound our ideas of beauty, 
and left us no standard or rule to judge by that was 
not even more uncertain and fallacious than our own 
fancies. This loose and inaccurate manner of speak- 
ing has, therefore, misled us both in the theory of taste 
and of morals ; and induced us to remove the science 
of our duties from their proper bases (our reason, our 
relations, and our necessities), to rest it upon founda- 
tions altogether visionary and unsubstantial. 



SECTION XII. 

THE REAL CAUSE OF BEAUTY. 

Having endeavored to show what beauty is not, it 
remains that we should examine, at least with equal 

From what has been said in the foregoing section, what may we easily 
see? To what has the general application of this quality to •virtue a strong 
tendency ? and to what has it given rise ? How is this illustrated ? What 
has been the effect of this loose and inaccurate manner of speaking ? 

Having endeavored to show what beauty is not, what remains ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 141 

attention, in what it really consists. Beauty is a thing 
much too affecting not to depend on some positive qual- 
ities. And, since it is no creature of our reason, since 
it strikes us without any reference to use, and even 
where no use at all can be discerned, since the order 
and method of nature are generally very different from 
our measures and proportions, we must conclude that 
beauty is, for the greater part, some quality in bodies 
acting mechanically upon the human mind by the in- 
tervention of the senses. We ought, therefore, to con- 
sider attentively in what manner those sensible quali- 
ties are disposed, in such things as, by experience, we 
find beautiful, or which excite in us the passion of love, 
or some correspondent affection 



SECTION XIII. 

BEAUTIFUL OBJECTS SMALL. 

The most obvious point that presents itself to us in 
examining any object is its extent or quantity. And 
what degree of extent prevails in bodies that are held 
beautiful may be gathered from the usual manner of 
expression concerning it. I am told that, in most lan- 
guages, the objects of love are spoken of under diminu- 
tive epithets It is so in all the languages of which I 
have any knowledge. In Greek, the twv and other 
diminutive terms are almost always the terms of affec- 

Of beauty what is said ? Why must we conclude that it is some quality in 
bodies acting mechanically upon the human mind by the intervention o£the 
senses? What ought we, therefore, attentively to consider ? 

What is the most obvious point that presents itself in examining any ob- 
ject ? How may we gather the degree of extent that prevails in bodies that 
are beautiful? In most languages, how are the objects of love spoken of? 
What evidence have we of this from the Greeks and Romans ? 



142 ON THE SUBLIME 

tion and tenderness. These diminutives were com- 
monly added by the Greeks to the names of persons 
with whom they conversed on the terms of friendship 
and famiharity. Though the Romans were a people 
of less quick and delicate feelings, yet they naturally 
slid into the lessening termination upon the same occa- 
sions. Anciently, in the English language, the dimin- 
ishing ling was added to the names of persons and 
things that were the objects of love. Some we retain 
still, as darling (or little dear), and a few others. But 
to this day, in ordinary conversation, it is usual to add 
the endearing name of little to every thing we love : 
the French and Italians make use of these affectionate 
diminutives even more than we do. In the animal cre- 
ation, out of our own species, it is the small we are in- 
clined to be fond of; little birds, and some of the small- 
er kinds of beasts. A great beautiful thing is a man- 
ner of expression scarcely ever used ; but that of a 
great ugly thing is very common. There is a wide 
difference between admiration and love. The sublime, 
which is the cause of the former, always dwells on 
great objects, and terrible ; the latter on small ones, 
and pleasing : we submit to what we admire, but we 
love what submits to us ; in one case we are forced, in 
the other we are flattered, into compliance. In short, 
the ideas of the sublime and the beautiful sta^d on 
foundations so different, that it is hard, I had almost 

Anciently, in the English language, what termination prevailed ? and what 
example still remains ? What endearing epithet do we still use in ordinary 
conversation ? What nations make use of these diminutives even more 
than we do ? In animal creation, of which are we inclined to be fond ^ 
What manner of expression is scarcely ever used ? Between what is there 
a wide difference ? On what does the sublime dwell ? and on what love ? 
How do we regard that to which we submit, and that which submits to us? 
What consequence results from the diflferent objects on which the sublime 
and beautiful stand ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 143 

said Impossible, to think of reconciling them in the same 
subject, without considerably lessening the effect of the 
o1ie or the other upon the passions : so that, attending 
to their quantity, beautiful objects are comparatively 
small. 



SECTION XIV. 

SMOOTHNESS. 

The next property constantly observable in such ob- 
jects is smoothness ;* a quality so essential to beauty, 
that I do not nov^^ recollect any thing beautiful that is 
not smooth. In trees and flowers, smooth leaves are 
beautiful ; smooth slopes of earth in gardens ; smooth 
streams in the landscape ; smooth coats of birds and 
beasts in animal beauties ; in fine women, smooth skins ; 
and in several sorts of ornamental furniture, smooth 
and polished surfaces. A very considerable part of the 
effect of beauty is owing to this quality ; indeed, the 
most considerable ; for, take any beautiful object, and 
give it a broken and rugged surface, and, however well 
formed it may be in other respects, it pleases no longer : 
whereas, let it want ever so many of the other constit- 
uents, if it wants not this, it becomes more pleasing 
than almost all the others without it. This seems to 
me so evident, that I am a good deal surprised that 
none who have handled the subject have made any 
mention of the quality of smoothness in the enumera- 

What examples are given to illustrate the remark that smoothness is es- 
sential to beauty ? How does it appear that the most considerable part of 
the effect of beauty is owing to this quality ? From the mfmifest truth of 
this remark, at what are we surprised, and why ? 

* Part iv., sect. xxi. 



144 ON THE SUBLIME 

tion of those that go to the forming of beauty ; for, in- 
deed, any rugged, any sudden projection, any sharp 
angle, is in the highest degree contrary to that idea. 



SECTION XV. 

GRADUAL VARIATION. 

But, as perfectly beautiful bodies are not composed 
of angular parts, so their parts never continue long in 
the same right line.* They vary their direction every 
moment, and they change under the eye by a devia- 
tion continually carrying on, but for v^hose beginning 
or end you will find it difficult to ascertain a point. 
The view^ of a beautiful bird v^ill illustrate this obser- 
vation. Here we see the head increasing insensibly to 
the middle, from whence it lessens gradually, until it 
mixes with the neck ; the neck loses itself in a larger 
swell, which continues to the middle of the body, when 
the whole decreases again to the tail : the tail takes a 
new direction, but it soon varies its new course : it 
blends again with the other parts ; and the line is per- 
petually changing, above, below, upon every side. In 
this description, I have before me the idea of a dove ; 
it agrees very well with most of the conditions of beau- 
ty. It is smooth and downy ; its parts are (to use that 
expression) melted into one another : you are present- 
ed with no sudden protuberance through the whole, 
and yet the whole is continually changing. Observe 



Why do not the parts of perfectly beautiful bodies continue long in the 
same right line ? How do they vary ? What will illustrate this remark ? 
and in what manner ? In this description, what example is contemplated ? 
and what is farther observed of it ? 

* Part v., sect, xxiii. 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 145 

that part of a beautiful woman, where she is, perhaps, 
the most beautiful, about the neck and breasts : the 
smoothness : the softness ; the easy and insensible 
swell ; the variety of the surface, which is never, for 
the smallest space, the same ; the deceitful maze, 
through which the unsteady eye slides giddily, with- 
out knowing where to fix or whither it is carried. Is 
not this a demonstration of that change of surface, con- 
tinual, and yet hardly perceptible at any point, which 
forms one of the great constituents of beauty ? It gives 
me no small pleasure to find that I can strengthen my 
theory in this point by the opinion of the very ingenious 
Mr. Hogarth, whose idea of the line of beauty I take, 
in general, to be extremely just ; but the idea of varia- 
tion, without attending so accurately to the manner of 
the variation, has led him to consider angular figures 
as beautiful : these figures, it is true, vary greatly ; yet 
they vary in a sudden and broken manner ; and I do 
not find any natural object which is angular, and, at the 
same time, beautiful. Indeed, few natural objects are 
entirely angular ; but I think those which approach the 
most nearly to it are the ugliest. I must add, too, that, 
so far as I could observe of nature, though the varied 
line is that alone in which complete beauty is found, 
yet there is no particular line which is always found 
in the most completely beautiful, and which is there- 
fore beautiful in preference to all other lines : at least, 
I never could observe it. 

What other example is given to illustrate the same remark 1 Of what is 
this a demonstration ? By whose authority is our author's opinion here 
strengthened ? What led him to consider angular figures beautiful ? Why 
are they not beautiful 1 What observation follows ? 

N 



146 ON THE SUBLIME 

SECTION XVI. 

DELICACY. 

An air of robustness and strength is very prejudicial 
to beauty. An appearance of delicacy, and even of 
fragility, is almost essential to it. Whoever examines 
the vegetable or animal creation, will find this obser- 
vation to be founded in nature. It is not the oak, the 
ash, or the elm, or any of the robust trees of the forest, 
which we consider as beautiful ; they are awful and 
majestic ; they inspire a sort of reverence. It is the 
delicate myrtle, it is the orange, it is the almond, it is 
the jasmine, it is the vine, which we look on as vege- 
table beauties. It is the flowery species, so remarkable 
for its weakness and momentary duration, that gives 
us the liveliest idea of beauty and elegance. Among 
animals, the greyhound is more beautiful than the mas- 
tiff; and the delicacy of a gennet, a barb, or an Ara- 
bian horse, is much more amiable than the strength and 
stability of some horses of war or carriage. I need 
here say Lttle of the fair sex, where I believe the point 
will be easily allowed me. The beauty of women is 
considerably owing to their weakness or delicacy, and 
is even enhanced by their timidity, a quality of mind 
analogous to it. I would not here be understood to 
say that weakness, betraying very bad health, has any 
share in beauty ; but the ill effect of this is not because 
it is weakness, but because the ill state of health, which 
produces such weakness, alters the other conditions of 

What is always essential to beauty ? How may this observation be found 
to be founded in nature ? What examples of illustration are given ? Among 
animals, what examples are given ? Of what need little here be said, and 
why ? Whence arises the ill effect of that weakness which betrays very 
bad health? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 147 

beauty ; the parts, in such a case, collapse ; the bright 
color, the lumen purpureum juventcB, is gone ; and the 
fine variation is lost in wrinkles, sudden breaks, and 
right lines. 



SECTION XVII. 

BEAUTY IN COLOR. 

As to the colors usually found in beautiful bodies, it 
may be somewhat difficult to ascertain them, because, 
in the several parts of nature, there is an infinite va- 
riety. However, even in this variety we may mark 
out something on which to settle. First, the colors of 
beautiful bodies must not be dusky or muddy, but clean 
and fair. Secondly, they must not be of the strongest 
kind. Those which seem most appropriated to beau- 
ty are the milder of every sort : light greens ; soft 
blues ; weak whites ; pink reds, and violets. Thirdly, 
if the colors be strong and vivid, they are always di- 
versified, and the object is never of one strong color ; 
there are almost always such a number of them (as in 
variegated flowers), that the strength and glare of each 
is considerably abated. In a fine complexion, there is 
not only some variety in the coloring, but the colors : 
neither the red nor the white is strong and glaring. 
Besides, they are mixed in such a manner, and with 
such gradations, that it is impossible to fix the bounds. 
On the same principle it is that the dubious color in the 
necks and tails of peacocks, and about the heads of 

Why may it be diflScult to ascertain the colors usually found in beauti- 
ful bodies? In this variety, however, in the 1st, 2d, and 3d color, what 
may we mark out ? Of the colors of a fine complexion, what is observed ? 
What, on the same principle, is so very agreeable ? 



i48 ON THE SUBLIME 

drakes, is so very agreeable. In reality, the beauty, 
both of shape and coloring, are as nearly related as we 
can well suppose it possible for things of such different 
natures to be. 



SECTION XVIII. 

RECAPITULATION. 

On the whole, the qualities of beauty, as they are 
merely sensible qualities, are the following : First, to 
be comparatively small. Secondly, to be smooth. 
Thirdly, to have a variety in the direction of the parts ; 
but, fourthly, to have those parts not angular, but melt- 
ed, as it were, into each other. Fifthly, to be of a del- 
icate frame, without any remarkable appearance of 
strength. Sixthly, to have its colors clear and bright, 
but not very strong and glaring. Seventhly, or if it 
should have any glaring color, to have it diversified 
with others. These are, I believe, the properties on 
which beauty depends ; properties that operate by na- 
ture, and are less liable to be altered by caprice, or 
confounded by a diversity of tastes, than any other. 



SECTION XIX. 

THE PHYSIOGNOMY. 

The physiognomy has a considerable share in beau- 
ty, especially in that of our own species. The man- 
or the beauty both of shape and coloring, what is observed ? 

What are the seven properties on which beauty depends ? What is said 
of them? 

Of the physiognomy what is observed ? 



AND BEAUTIiFUL. 149 

ners give a certain determination to the countenance ; 
which, being observed to correspond pretty regularly 
vv^ith them, is capable of joining the effects of certain 
agreeable qualities of the mind to those of the body : 
so that, to form a finished human beauty, and to give 
it its full influence, the face must be expressive of such 
gentle and amiable quaUties as correspond v^ith the 
softness, smoothness, and delicacy of the outward form. 



SECTION XX, 

THE EYE. 

I HAVE hitherto purposely omitted to speak of the 
eye, which has so great a share in the beauty of the 
animal creation, as it did not fall so easily under the 
foregoing heads, though, in fact, it is reducible to the 
same principles. I think, then, that the beauty of the 
eye consists, first, in its clearness: what colored eye 
shall please most, depends a good deal on particular 
fancies ; but none are pleased with any eye whose 
water (to use that term) is dull and muddy.* We are 
pleased with the eye in this view, on the principle upon 
which we like diamonds, clear water, glass, and such 
hke transparent substances. Secondly, the motion of 
the eye contributes to its beauty, by continually shift- 
ing its directions ; but a slow and languid motion is 
more beautiful than a brisk one : the latter is enliven- 

What do the manners give to the countenance ? and what is said of it 1 To 
form a finished human beauty, what is requisite ? 

Why has our author hitherto omitted to speak of the eye ? In what does 
its beauty in the first place consist ? Of the color of the eye, what is ob- 
served 1 On what principle are we pleased with a clear eye ? Of its mo- 
tion, what is observed ? 

* Part iv., sect. xxv. 



150 ON THE SUBLIME 

ing, the former lovely. Thirdly, with regard to the 
union of the eye with the neighboring parts, it is to 
hold the same rule that is given of other beautiful ones ; 
it is not to make a strong deviation from the line of 
the neighboring parts, nor to verge into any exact 
geometrical figure. Besides all this, the eye affects, as 
it is expressive of some qualities of the mind, and its 
principal power generally arises from this ; so that 
what we have just said of the physiognomy is applica- 
ble here. 



SECTION XXL 

UGLINESS. 

It may, perhaps, appear like a sort of repetition of 
what we have before said to insist here upon the na- 
ture of ugliness^ as I imagine it to be in all respects 
the opposite to those qualities which we have laid 
down for the constituents of beauty. But, though ug- 
Hness be the opposite of beauty, it is not the opposite 
to proportion and fitness ; for it is possible that a thing 
may be very ugly with any proportions, and with a 
perfect fitness to any uses. Ugliness I imagine like- 
wise to be consistent enough with an idea of the sub- 
lime ; but I would by no means insinuate that ugli- 
ness, of itself, is a sublime idea, unless united with such 
qualities as excite a strong terror. 

In what, in the third place, does the beauty of the eye consist ? From 
what does the principal power of the eye arise ? 

What may appear to be a sort of repetition, and why ? Why is not 'Ug- 
liness the opposite to proportion and fitness ? When only may ugliness be 
consistent with an idea of the sublime f 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 151 

SECTION XXII. 

GRACE. 

Gracefulness is an idea not very different from 
beauty ; it consists in much the same things. Grace- 
fulness is an idea belonging to posture and motion. 
In both these, to be graceful, it is requisite that there 
be no appearance of difficulty ; there is required a 
small inflection of the body, and a composure of the 
parts in such a manner as not to encumber each other, 
nor to appear divided by sharp and sudden angles. 
In this case, this roundness, this delicacy of attitude 
and motion, is that in which all the magic of grace 
consists, and what is called its^V ne sals quoi ; as will 
be obvious to any observer who considers attentively 
the Venus de Medicis, the Antinous, or any statue gen- 
erally allowed to be graceful in a high degree. 



SECTION XXIII. 

ELEGANCE AND SPECIOUSNESS. 

When any body is composed of parts smoothed and 
polished, without pressing upon each other, without 
showing any ruggedness or confusion, and at the 
same time affecting some regular shape, I call it ele- 
gant. It is closely allied to the beautiful, differing 
from it only in this regularity ; which, however, as it 
makes a very material difference in the affection pro- 
of gracefulness, what is observed ? To what does it belong ? In both 
these, to be graceful, what is requisite? and what is required ? How may 
it be made to appear evident that this is that in which all the magic of 
grace consists ? 

When is a body called elegant ? In what does it differ from the beauti- 
ful? and why may it constitute another species? 



152 ON THE SUBLIME 

duced, may very well constitute another species. Un- 
der this head I rank those delicate and regular works 
of art that imitate no determinate object in nature, as 
elegant buildings and pieces of furniture. When any 
object partakes of the above-mentioned qualities, or of 
those of beautiful bodies, and is, withal, of great di- 
mensions, it is full as remote from the idea of mere 
beauty, I call it Jine or specious. 



SECTION XXIV. 

THE BEAUTIFUL IN FEELING. 

The foregoing description of beauty, so far as it is 
taken in by the eye, may be greatly illustrated by de- 
scribing the nature of objects which produce a similar 
effect through the touch. This I call the beautiful in 
feeling. It corresponds wonderfully with what causes 
the same species of pleasure to the sight. There is a 
chain in all our sensations ; they are all but different 
sorts of feelings, calculated to be affected by various 
sorts of objects, but all to be affected after the same 
manner. All bodies that are pleasant to the touch are 
so by the slightness of the resistance they make. Re- 
sistance is either to motion along the surface, or to the 
pressure of the parts on one another : if the former be 
slight, we call the body smooth ; if the latter, soft. 
The chief pleasure we receive by feeling is in the one 

Under this head, what are ranked? When is an object called fine or spe- 
cious ? 

How may the foregoing description of beauty be illustrated ? What is it 
called, and with what does it correspond ? Of our sensations, what is re- 
marked ? In what manner are bodies pleasant to the touch? What are 
the two directions of resistance ? Of the former and of the latter, what is 
observed ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 153 

or the other of these qualities ; and if there be a com- 
bination of both, our pleasure is greatly increased. 
This is so plain, that it is rather more fit to illustrate 
other things than to be illustrated itself by an example. 
The next source of pleasure in this sense, as in every 
other, is the continually presenting somewhat new; 
and we find that bodies which continually vary their 
surface are much the most pleasant or beautiful to the 
feeling, as any one that pleases may experience. The 
third property in such objects is, that though the sur- 
face continually varies its direction, it never varies it 
suddenly. The application of any thing sudden, even 
though the impression itself have little or nothing of 
violence, is disagreeable. The quick application of a 
finger a little warmer or colder than usual, without 
notice, makes us start ; a slight tap on the shoulder, 
not expected, has the same effect. Hence it is that 
angular bodies, bodies that suddenly vary the direction 
of the outline, afford so little pleasure to the feeling. 
Every such change is a sort of cHmbing or falling in 
miniature ; so that squares, triangles, and other angu- 
lar figures, are neither beautiful to the sight nor to the 
feeling. Whoever compares his state of mind on 
feeling soft, smooth, variegated, unangular bodies, with 
that in which he finds himself on the view of a beau- 
tiful object, will perceive a very striking analogy in 
the effects of both, and which may go a good way to- 
ward discovering their common cause. Feeling and 

What effect is produced by a combination of these qualities ? Of the evi- 
dence of this, what is observed? What is the next source of pleasure in 
this sense? What bodies are most pleasant or beautiful to the feeling? 
What is the third property in such objects? Of the apphcation of any 
thing sudden, what is remarked? How is this illustrated ? Hence, what 
bodies afford so little pleasure to the feeling, and why ? How may this b© 
illustrated ? 



154 ON THE SUBLIME 

sight, in this respect, differ in but a few points. The 
touch takes in the pleasure of softness, which is not 
primarily an object of sight; the sight, on the other 
hand, comprehends color, which can hardly be made 
perceptible to the touch : the touch, again, has the ad- 
vantage in a new idea of pleasure resulting from a 
moderate degree of warmth ; but the eye triumphs in 
the infinite extent and multiplicity of its objects. But 
there is such a similitude in the pleasures of these sen- 
ses, that I am apt to fancy, if it were possible that one 
might discern color by feeling (as, it is said, some 
blind men have done), that the same colors, and the 
same disposition of coloring, which are found beauti- 
ful to the sight, would be found likewise most graceful 
to the touch. But, setting aside conjectures, let us 
pass to the other sense — of hearing. 



SECTION XXV. 

THE BEAUTIFUL IN SOUNDS. 

In this sense we find an equal aptitude to be affect- 
ed in a soft and delicate manner ; and how far sweet 
or beautiful sounds agree with our descriptions of beau- 
ty in other senses, the experience of every one must 
decide. Milton has described this species of music in 
one of his juvenile poems.* I need not say that Mil- 
ton was perfectly well versed in that art ; and that no 
man had a finer ear, with a happier manner of express- 
How do feeling and sight in this respect differ? From the similitude in 
the pleasures of these senses, what are we apt to fancy ? 

Of beauty of sound, what is remarked ? Who has described this species 
of music ? and what is said of him ? 

* L'Allegro. 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 155 

ing the affections of one sense by metaphors taken from 
another. The description is as follows : 

" And ever against eating cares, 

Lap me in soft Lydian airs ; 

In notes with many a winding bout 

Of linked sweetness long: drawn out ; 

With wanton head and giddy cunning, 

The melting voice through mazes running ; 

Untwisting all the chains that tie '- 
^ The hidden soul of harmony." .,< 

Let us parallel this with the softness, the winding sur- 
face, the unbroken continuance, the easy gradation of 
the beautiful in other things ; and all the diversities of 
the several senses, with all their several affections, will 
rather help to throw lights from one another, to finish 
one clear consistent idea of the whole, than to obscure 
it by their intricacy and variety. 

To the above-mentioned description I shall add one 
or two remarks. The first is, that the beautiful in mu- 
sic will not bear that loudness and strength of sounds 
which may be used to raise other passions ; nor notes 
which are shrill, or harsh, or deep : it agrees best with 
such as are clear, even, smooth, and weak. The sec- 
ond is, that great variety, and quick transitions from 
one measure or tone to another, are contrary to the ge- 
nius of the beautiful in music. Such transitions often 
excite mirth, or other sudden and tumultuous passions ; 
but not that sinking, that melting, that languor, which 
is the characteristical effect of the beautiful, as it re- 
gards every sense. The pa?sion excited by beauty is, 
in fact, nearer to a species of melancholy than to jol- 
lity and mirth. 

"I ne'er am merry when I hear sweet music." — Shakspeare. 

Recite the description ? What is said of this description ? To the above- 
mentioned description, what is the first remark that is added ? What is the 
second ? What is often the effect of guch transitions ? What is the na- 
ture of the passions excited by beauty j 



156 ON THE SUBLIME 

I do not here mean to confine music to any one species 
of notes or tones, neither is it an art in which I can say 
I have any great skill. My sole design in this remark 
is to settle a consistent idea of beauty. The infinite 
variety of the affections of the soul w^ill suggest to a 
good head and skillful ear a variety of such sounds as 
are fitted to raise them. It can be no prejudice to this 
to clear and distinguish some few particulars that be- 
long to the same class, and are consistent with each 
other, from the immense crowd of different, and some- 
times contradictory, ideas that rank vulgarly under the 
standard of beauty. And of these it is my intention 
to mark such only of the leading points as show the 
conformity of the sense of hearing with all the other 
senses in the article of their pleasures. 



SECTION XXVI. 

TASTE AND SMELL. 

This general agreement of the senses is yet more 
evident on minutely considering those of taste and 
smell. We metaphorically apply the idea of sweet- 
ness to sights and sounds ; but, as the qualities of bod- 
ies, by which they are fitted to excite either pleasure 
or pain in these senses, are not so obvious as they are 
in the others, we shall refer an explanation of their an- 
alogy, which is a very close one, to that part wherein 

To what is music not meant to be confined ? In this remark, what is the 
sole design ? What will the infinite variety of the affections of the soul 
suggest to a good head and skillful ear ? What can be no prejudice to this ? 
Of these, what only are intended to be marked ? 

Hov/ will this general agreement of the senses become still more evident? 
To what do we metaphorically apply the idea of sweetness ? Why is an 
explanation of this analogy referred to another part of the work ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 157 

we come to consider the common efficient cause of 
beauty as it regards all the senses. I do not think any- 
thing better fitted to establish a clear and settled idea 
of visual beauty than this way of examining the sim- 
ilar pleasures of other senses ; for one part is some- 
times clear in one of these senses, that is more obscure 
in another ; and, where there is a clear concurrence 
of all, we may with more certainty speak of any one 
of them. By this means they bear witness to each 
other ; nature is, as it were, scrutinized ; and we re- 
port nothing of her but what we receive from her own 
information. 



SECTION XXVII. 

THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL COMPARED. 

On closing this general view of beauty, it naturally 
occurs that we should compare it with the sublime ; 
and, in this comparison, there appears a remarkable 
contrast ; for sublime objects are vast in their dimen- 
sions, beautiful ones comparatively small : beauty should 
be smooth and polished ; the great, rugged and negli- 
gent : beauty should shun the right line, yet deviate 
from it insensibly ; the great, in many cases, loves the 
right line, and when it deviates, it often makes a 
strong deviation ; -beauty should not be obscure ; the 
great ought to be dark and gloomy : beauty should be 
light and deHcate ; the great ought to be solid, and even 
massive. They are, indeed, ideas of a very different 

Why is the examination of the similar pleasures of other senses the best 
way to establish a clear and settled idea of visual beauty ? What is its 
effect ? 

On closing this general view of beauty, what naturally occurs to th« 
mind ? What is the contrast that appears in this comparison 1 

o 



153 ON THE SUBLIME 

nature, one being founded on pain, the other on pleasure ; 
and, however they may vary afterward from the direct 
nature of their causes, yet these causes keep up an 
eternal distinction between them, a distinction never 
to be forgotten by any whose business it is to affect the 
passions. In the infinite variety of natural combina- 
tions, we must expect to find the qualities of things the 
most remote imaginable from each other united in the 
same object. We must expect, also, to find combina- 
tions of the same kind in the works of art. But Vv^hen 
we consider the power of an object upon our passions, 
"we must know that, when any thing is intended to af- 
fect the mind by the force of some predominant prop- 
erty, the affection produced is like to be the more uni- 
form and perfect, if all the other properties or qualities 
of the object be of the same nature, and tending to the 
same design as the principal : 

"If black, and white blend, soften, and unite 
A thousand ways, is there no black and white ?" 

If the qualities of the sublime and beautiful are some- 
times found united, does this prove that they are the 
same ; does it prove that they are any way allied ; 
does it prove even that they are not opposite and con- 
tradictory ? Black and white may soften, may blend, 
but they are not, therefore, the same. Nor, when they 
are so softened and blended with each other, or with 
different colors, is the power of black as black, or of 
white as white, so strong as when each stands uniform 
and distinguished. 

How does it appear that they are ideas of a very different nature ? In the 
infinite variety of natural combinations, what must we expect to find? 
Where, also, must we expect to find combinations of the same kind? In 
considering the power of any object upon our passions, what must we know ? 
What is the closing remark ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 159 



PART IV. 

SECTION I. 

OP THE EFFICENT CAUSE OF THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL. 

When I say I intend to inquire into the efficient 
cause of sublimity and beauty, I would not be under- 
stood to say that I can come to the ultimate cause. I 
do not pretend that I shall ever be able to explain why 
certain affections of the body produce such a distinct 
emotion of mind, and no other, or why the body is at 
all affected by the mind, or the mind by the body. A 
little thought will show this to be impossible. But I 
conceive, if we can discover what affections of the 
mind produce certain emotions of the body, and what 
distinct feelings and qualities shall produce certain 
determinate passions in the mind, and no others, I fan- 
cy a great deal will be done ; something not unuse- 
ful toward a distinct knowledge of our passions, so far, 
at least, as we have them at present under our consid- 
eration.- This is all, I believe, we can do. If we could 
advance a step farther, difficulties would still remain, 
as we should be still equally distant from the first 
cause. When Newton first discovered the property 
of attraction, and settled its laws, he found it served 
very well to explain several of the most remarkable 

How is our author to be understood when he says he intends to inquire 
into the efficient cause of sublimity and beauty ? To what does he not 
pretend ? By what discovery will a great deal be done, and toward what 
knowledge will it be useful? Suppose we could advance a step farther, 
what would be the consequence ? In the case of Newton's discovery, how 
is this remark illustrated ? 



160 ON THE SUJBLIME 

phenomena in nature ; but yet, with reference to the 
general system of things, he could consider attraction 
but as an effect, whose cause, at that time, he did not 
attempt to trace. But when he afterward began to 
account for it by a subtile elastic aether, this great man 
(if in so great a man it be not impious to discover any 
thing like a blemish) seemed to have quitted his usual 
cautious manner of philosophizing ; since, perhaps, al- 
lowing all that has been advanced on this subject to 
be sufficiently proved, I think it leaves us with as many 
difficulties as it found us. That great chain of causes, 
which, linking one to another, even to the throne of God 
himself, can never be unravelled by any industry of 
ours. When we go but one step beyond the immedi- 
ately sensible quahties of things, we go out of our 
depth. All we do after is but a faint struggle, that 
shows we are in an element that does not belong to 
us. So that, when I speak of cause and efficient cause, 
I only mean certain affections of the mind that cause 
certain changes in the body, or certain powers and 
properties in bodies that work a change in the mind : 
as, if I were to explain the motion of a body falling to 
the ground, I would say it was caused by gravity ; 
and I would endeavor to show after what manner this 
power operated, without attempting to show why it 
operated in this manner : or if I were to explain the 
effects of bodies striking one another by the common 
laws of percussion, I should not endeavor to explain 
how motion itself is communicated. 

Of the great chain of cause and effect, what is said ? What is the conse- 
quence of stepping beyond the immediately sensible qualities of things? 
When cause and efficient cause are spoken of, what only is meant? How 
is this illustrated ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL* 161 

SECTION II. 

ASSOCIATION. 

• It is no small bar in the way of our inquiry into the 
cause of our passions, that the occasion of many of 
them are given, and that their governing motions are 
communicated at a time v^hen we have not capacity 
to reflect on them ; at a time, of vt^hich all sort of 
memory is worn out of our minds : for, besides such 
things as affect us in various manners, according to 
their natural powers, there are associations made at 
that early season which we find it very hard afterward 
to distinguish from natural effects. Not to mention 
the unaccountable antipathies which we find in many 
persons, we all find it impossible to remember when a 
steep became more terrible than a plain, or fire or 
water more dreadful than a clod of earth ; though all 
these are very probably either conclusions from expe- 
rience, or arising from the premonitions of others ; and 
some of them impressed, in all likelihood, pretty late. 
But as it must be allowed that many things affect us 
after a certain manner, not by any natural powers 
they have for that purpose, but by association, so it 
would be absurd, on the other hand, to say that all 
things affect us by association only, since some things 
must have been originally and naturally agreeable or 
disagreeable, from which the others derive their asso- 
ciated powers ; and it would be, I fancy, to little pur- 
pose to look for the cause of our passions in associa- 
tion, until we fail of it in the natural properties of things. 

What serves as a barrier in the way of our inquiry into the cause of our 
passions, and why 1 How is this illustrated ? What must be allowed ? 
What, on the other hand, would be absurd, and why ? What would be of 
little purpose ? 

o^ 



162 ON THE SUBLIME 



SECTION III. 

CAUSE OF PAIN AND FEAR. 

I HAVE before observed,* that whatever is qualified to 
cause terror is a foundation capable of the sublime ; to 
which I add, that not only these, but many things from 
which we can not, probably, apprehend any danger, 
have a similar effect, because they operate in a simi- 
lar manner. I observe, too, that whatever produces 
pleasure, positive and original pleasure, is fit to have 
beauty ingrafted on it.f Therefore, to clear up the 
nature of these qualities, it may be necessary to ex- 
plain the nature of pain and pleasure, on which they 
depend. A man who suffers under violent bodily pain 
(I suppose the most violent, because the effect may be 
the more obvious) ; I say, a man in great pain has his 
teeth set, his eyebrows are violently contracted, his 
forehead is wrinkled, his eyes are dragged inward, and 
rolled with great vehemence, his hair stands an end, 
the voice is forced out in short shrieks and groans, and 
the whole fabric totters. Fear or terror, which is an 
apprehension of pain or death, exhibits exactly the 
same effects, approaching in violence to those just men- 
tioned, in proportion to the nearness of the cause and 
the weakness of the subject. This is not only so in the 
human species, but I have more than once observed in 
dogs, under an apprehension of punishment, that they 
have writhed their bodies, and yelped and howled, as 
if they had actually felt the blows. From whence I 

What was before observed, and to it what is now added ? What also is 
observed ? Therefore, what is necessary ? What is said of the man who 
suffers violent bodily pain ? Of fear and terror, what is remarked? What 
illustration is given ? and hence what conclusions are drawn ? 

♦ Part i., sect. viii. f Part i., sect. x. 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 163 

conclude that pain and fear act upon the same parts 
of the body, and in the same manner, though some- 
what differing in degree ; that pain and fear consist 
in an unnatural tension of the nerves ; that this is some- 
times accompanied with an unnatural strength, which 
soQietimes suddenly changes into an extraordinary 
weakness ; that these effects often come on alternately, 
and are sometimes mixed with each other. This is 
the nature of all convulsive agitations, especially in 
weaker subjects, which are the most liable to the se- 
verest impressions of pain and fear. The only differ- 
ence between pain and terror is, that things which 
cause pain operate on the mind by the intervention of 
the body, whereas things that cause terror generally 
affect the bodily organs by the operation of the mind 
suggesting the danger ; but, both agreeing, either pri- 
marily or secondarily, in producing a tension, contrac- 
tion, or violent emotion of the nerves,* they agree 
likewise in every thing else ; for it appears very clear- 
ly to me from this, as well as from many other exam- 
ples, that when the body is disposed, by any means 
whatsoever, to such emotions as it would acquire by 
the means of a certain passion, it will of itself excite 
something very like that passion in the mind. 

In what subjects especially is this the nature of all convulsive agitations, 
and why ? What is the only diiFerence between pain and terror ? In what 
do they both agree ? From this example, what appears manifest ? 

* I do not here enter into the question debated among physiologists, 
whether pain be the effect of a contraction or a tension of the nerves. 
Either will serve my purpose ; for by tension I mean no more than a vio- 
lent pulling of the fibres which compose any muscle or membrane, in 
whatever way this is done, 



164 ON THE SUBLIME 

SECTION IV. 

CONTINUED. 

To this purpose Mr. Spon, in his " Recherches d'An- 
tiquite," gives us a curious story of the celebrated 
physiognomist Campanella. This man, it seems, had 
not only made very accurate observations on human 
faces, but v^^as very expert in mimicking such as were 
in any vi^ay remarkable. When he had a mind to pen- 
etrate into the inclination of those he had to deal with, 
he composed his face, his gesture, and his whole body, 
as nearly as he could, into the exact similitude of the 
person he intended to examine, and then carefully ob- 
served what turn of mind he seemed to acquire by this 
change : so that, says my author, he was able to enter 
into the dispositions and thoughts of people as effect- 
ually as if he had changed into the very men. I have 
often observed that, on mimicking the looks and ges- 
tures of angry, or placid, or frighted, or daring men, I 
have involuntarily found my mind turned to that pas- 
sion whose appearance I endeavored to imitate ; nay, 
I am convinced it is hard to avoid it, though one strove 
to separate the passion from its correspondent gestures. 
Our minds and bodies are so closely and intimately 
connected, that one is incapable of pain or pleasure 
without the other. Campanella, of whom we have 
been speaking, could so abstract his attention from any 
sufferings of his body, that he was able to endure the 
rack itself without much pain ; and, in lesser pains, 
every body must have observed, that when we can 

Of the physiognomist Campanella, what is observed ? In what manner 
did he penetrate into the inclinations of those with whom he had to deal ? 
What has our author often observed ? and of what is he convinced, and 
why ? What is farther said of Campanella ? and in lesser pains, what must 
every body have observed ? 



i 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 165 

Employ our attention on any thing else, the pain has 
been for a time suspended : on the other hand, if, by 
any means, the body is indisposed to perform such 
gestures, or to be stimulated into such emotions as any 
passion usually produces in it, that passion itself nevei 
can arise, though its cause should be never so strongly 
in action ; though it should be merely mental, and im- 
mediately affecting none of the senses ; as an opiate 
or spirituous liquors shall suspend the operation of 
grief, or fear, or anger, in spite of all our efforts to the 
contrary ; and this by inducing in the body a disposi- 
tion contrary to that which it receives from these pas- 
sions. 



SECTION V. 

HOW THE SUBLIME 13 PRODUCED. 

Having considered terror as producing an unnatu- 
ral tension and certain violent emotions of the nerves, 
it easily follows, from what we have just said, that 
whatever is fitted to produce such a tension must be 
productive of a passion similar to terror,* and, conse- 
quently, must be a source of the sublime, though it 
should have no idea of danger connected with it : so 
that little remains toward showing the cause of the 
sublime, but to show that the instances we have given 
of it in the second part relate to such things as are fit- 
ted by nature to produce this sort of tension, either by 

On the other hand, what is observed ? How is this remark illustrated ? 

Having considered terror as producing an unnatural tension and certain 
violent emotion of the nerves, what follows ? Hence what only remains 
toward showing the cause of the sublime ? 

* Part ii., sect. ii. 



166 ON THE SUBLIME 

the primary operation of the mind or the body. With 
regard to such things as affect by the associated idea 
of danger, there can be no doubt that they produce 
terror, and act by some modification of that passion ; 
and that terror, when sufficiently violent, raises the 
emotions of the body just mentioned, can as little be 
doubted. But if the sublime is built on terror, or some 
passion like it, which has pain for its object, it is pre- 
viously proper to inquire how any species of delight 
can be derived from a cause so apparently contrary to 
it. I say delight, because, as I have often remarked, 
it is very evidently different in its cause and in its own 
nature from actual and positive pleasure. 



SECTION VI. 

HOW PAIN CAN BE A CAUSE OF DELIGHT. 

Providence has so ordered it, that a state of rest and 
inaction, however it may flatter our indolence, should 
be productive of many inconveniences, that it should 
generate such disorders as may force us to have re- 
course to some labor, as a thing absolutely requisite 
to make us pass our lives with tolerable satisfaction ; 
for the nature of rest is to suffer all the parts of our 
bodies to fall into a relaxation, that not only disables 
the members from performing their functions, but takes 
away the vigorous tone of fibre which is requisite for 
carrying on the natural and necessary secretions ; at 



With regard to such things as affect by the associated idea of danger, what 
is observed ? If the sublime is built on terror, what previous inquiry is 
proper ? Why is the word delight here used ? 

Of a state of rest and inaction, what is remarked ? What is the nature 
of rest? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 167 

the same time that, in this languid, inactive state, the 
nerves are more liable to the most horrid convulsions 
than when they are sufficiently braced and strength- 
ened. Melancholy, dejection, despair, and often self- 
murder, are the consequence of the gloomy view we 
take of things in this relaxed state of body. The best 
remedy for all these evils is exercise or labor ; and la- 
bor is a surmounting of difficulties^ an exertion of the 
contracting power of the muscles ; and, as such, re- 
sembles pain, which consists in tension or contraction, 
in every thing but degree. Labor is not only requi- 
site to preserve the coarser organs in a state fit for 
their functions, but it is equally necessary to these 
finer and more delicate organs, on which and by which 
the imagination, and perhaps the other mental powers, 
act ; since it is probable that not only the inferior 
parts of the soul, as the passions are called, but the un- 
derstanding itself, makes use of some fine corpoixal in- 
struments in its operation ; though what they are, and 
w^here they are, may be somewhat hard to settle ; but 
that it does make use of such, appears from hence, that 
a long exercise of the mental powers induces a re- 
markable lassitude of the whole body ; and, on the oth- 
er hand, that great bodily labor or pain weakens, and 
sometimes actually destroys, the mental faculties. 
Now, as a due exercise is essential to the coarse mus- 
cular parts of the constitution, and that, without this 
rousing, they would become languid and diseased, the 

In this languid state, to what are the nerves more liable ? and what is often 
the consequence? What is the best remedy for all these evils? what is it, 
and what does it resemble ? For what, in addition to the preservation of 
the coarser organs, is labor requisite, and why? From what does it ap- 
pear that the understanding makes use of some fine corporeal instruments 
in its operation? As a due exercise is essential to the coarse muscular 
parts of the constitution, what is the infecence ? 



16S Ojf i-flE SUBLIME 

very same rule holds with regard to those finer parts 
we have mentioned ; to have them in proper order, 
they must be shaken and worked to a proper degree. 



SECTION VII. 

EXERCISE NECESSARY FOR THE FINER ORGANS. 

As common labor, which is a mode of pain, is the 
exercise of the grosser, a mode of terror is the exer- 
cise of the finer parts of the system ; and if a certain 
mode of pain be of such a nature as to act upon the 
eye or the ear, as they are the most delicate organs, 
the affection approaches more nearly to that which has 
a mental cause. In all these cases, if the pain and ter- 
ror are so modified as not to be actually noxious ; if 
the pain is not carried to violence, and the terror is 
not conversant about the present destruction of the 
person, as these emotions clear the parts, whether fine 
or gross, of a dangerous and troublesome incumbrance, 
they are capable of producing delight ; not pleasure, 
but a sort of delightful horror ; a sort of tranquillity 
tinged with terror ; which, as it belongs to self-preser- 
vation, is one of the strongest of all the passions. Its 
object is the sublime.* Its highest degree I call as- 
tonishment ; the subordinate degrees are awe, rever- 
ence, and respect, which, by the very etymology of 
the words, show from what source they are derived, 
and how they stand distinguished from positive pleas- 
ure. 

What IS the first remark ? Under what circumstances, m these cases, 
are they capable of producing delight ? What is here meant by delight ? 
What is its highest, and what are its subordinate, degrees called ? From 
the etymology of the words, what is shown ? 

* Part ii., sect. ii. 



AND BEAUTIFUL* 169 

SECTION VIII. 

WHY THINGS NOT DANGEROUS PRODUCE A PASSION LIKE 
TERROR. 

A MODE of terror or pain is always the cause of the 
sublime.* For terror or associated danger the fore- 
going explanation is, 1 believe, sufficient. It will re- 
quire somewhat more trouble to show that such exam- 
ples as I have given of the sublime, in the second part, 
are capable of producing a mode of pain, and of being 
thus allied to terror, and to be accounted for on the 
same principles. And, first, of such objects as are 
great in their dimension : I speak of visud objects. 



SECTION IX. 

WHY VISUAL OBJECTS OF GREAT DIMENSIONS ARE 
SUBLIME. 

Vision is performed by having a picture formed by 
the rays of light which are reflected from the object 
painted in one piece, instantaneously, on the retina, or 
last nervous part of the eye. Or, according to others, 
there is but one point of any object painted on the eye 
in such a manner as to be perceived at once ; but, by 
moving the eye, we gather up with great celerity 
the several parts of the object, so as to form one uni- 
form piece. If the former opinion be allowed, it will 
be considered! that, though all the light reflected from 

Of what is a mode of terror or pain always the cause ? For what is the 
foregoing explanation suflEicient ? What will require somewhat mora 
trouble ? What objects are first considered ? 

How is vision performed ? What other opinion has prevailed ? If the 
former opinion be allowed, what will be considered? and what follows? 

* Part i., sect. vii. Part ii., sect. ii. + Part u., sect. vii. 

P 



170 ON THE SUBLIME 

a large body should strike the eye in one instant, yet 
we must suppose that the body itself is formed of a 
vast number of distinct points, every one of which, or 
the ray from every one, makes an impression on the 
retina ; so that, though the image of one point should 
cause but a small tension of this membrane, another, 
and another, and another stroke must, in their progress, 
cause a very great one, until it arrives at last to the 
highest degree ; and the whole capacity of the eye, vi- 
brating in all its parts, must approach near to the na- 
ture of what causes pain, and, consequently, must pro- 
duce an idea of the sublime. Again : if we take it that 
one point only of an object is distinguishable at once, 
the matter will amount nearly to the same thing ; or, 
rather, it will make the origin of the sublime from 
greatness of dimension yet clearer ; for, if but one 
point is observed at once, the eye must traverse the 
vast space of such bodies with great quickness, and, 
consequently, the line nerves and muscles destined to 
the motion of that part must be very much strained, 
and their great sensibility must make them highly af- 
fected by this straining. Besides, it signifies just noth- 
ing to the effect produced, whether a body has its parts 
connected, and makes its impression at once, or, mak- 
ing but one impression of a point at a time, it causes 
a succession of the same or others so quickly as to 
make them seem united, as is evident from the com- 
mon effect of whirling about a lighted torch or piece 
of wood, which, if done with celerity, seems a circle 
of fire. 



What will, allowing that one point only of an object is distinguishable at 
once, make the origin of the sublime from greatness of dimension still clear- 
er ? What in this case signifies nothing ? From what is this evident ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 171 



SECTION X. 



UNITY WHY REQUISITE TO VASTNESS. 

It may be objected to this theory, that the eye gen- 
erally receives an equal number of rays at all times, 
and that, therefore, a great object can not affect it by 
the number of rays, more than that variety of objects 
which the eye must always discern while it remains 
open. But to this I answer, that, admitting an equal 
number of rays, or an equal quantity of luminous par- 
ticles, to strike the eye at all times, yet, if these rays 
frequently vary their nature, now to blue, now to red, 
and so on, or their manner of termination, as to a num- 
ber of petty squares, triangles, or the like, at every 
change, whether of color or shape, the organ has a 
sort of a relaxation or rest ; but this relaxation and 
labor, so often interrupted, is by no means productive 
of ease, neither has it the effect of vigorous and uni- 
form labor. Whoever has remarked the different ef- 
fects of some strong exercise, and some little piddling 
action, will understand why a teasing, fretful employ- 
ment, which at once wearies and weakens the body, 
should have nothing great ; these sorts of impulses, 
which are rather teasing than painful, by continually 
and suddenly altering their tenor and direction, pre- 
vent that full tension, that species of uniform labor, 
which is allied to strong pain, and causes the sublime. 
The sum total of things of various kinds, though it 
should equal the number of the uniform parts compos- 
ing some one entire object, is not equal in its effect 



To this theory what may be objected ? How is this objection answered ? 
What will he understand who has remarked the different effects of some 
strong exercise and some trifling action ? What do these sorts of impulses 
prevent ? Of the sum total of things of various kinds, what is observed ? 



172 ON THE SUBLIM£ 

upon the organs of our bodies. Besides the one al- 
ready assigned, there is another very strong reason 
for the difference. The mind, in reahty, hardly ever 
can attend dihgently to more than one thing at a time ; 
if this thing be little, the effect is httle, and a number 
of other little objects can not engage the attention ; 
the mind is bounded by the bounds of the object ; and 
what is not attended to, and what does not exist, are 
much the same in the effect : bat the eye, or the mind 
(for in this case there is no difference), in great uniform 
objects, does not readily arrive at their bounds ; it has 
no rest while it contemplates them ; the image is much 
the same every where ; so that every thing great by 
its quantity must necessarily be one, simple, and entire. 



SECTION XL 

THE ARTIFICIAL INFINITE. 

We have observed that a species of greatness arises 
from the artificial infinite, and that this infinite con- 
sists in a uniform succession of great parts : we ob- 
served, too, that the same uniform succession had a 
like power in sounds. But, because the effects of 
many things are clearer in one of the senses 'than in 
another, and that all the senses bear an analogy to and 
illustrate one another, I shall begin with this power 
in sounds, as the cause of the sublimity from succes- 
sion is rather more obvious in the sense of hearing. 
And I shall here once for all observe, that an investi- 

What reason have we, in addition to the one already assigned, for this dif- 
ference? Why must every thing great by its quantity necessarily be one, 
simple, and entire ? 

What have w^e observed ? For what reasons do we begin with this pow- 
er in sounds ? What observation is here once for all made ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 173 

gation of the natural and mechanical causes of our 
passions, besides the curiosity of the subject, gives, if 
they are discovered, a double strength and lustre to 
any rules v^e deliver on such matters. When the ear 
receives any simple sound, it is struck by a single 
pulse of the air, which makes the ear-drum and the 
other membranous parts vibrate according to the na- 
ture and species of the stroke. If the stroke be strong, 
the organ of hearing suffers a considerable degree of 
tension. If the stroke be repeated pretty soon after, 
the repetition causes an expectation of another stroke. 
And it must be observed, that expectation itself causes 
a tension. This is apparent in many animals, w^ho, 
when they prepare for hearing any sound, rouse them- 
selves, and prick up their ears : so that here the effect 
of the sounds is considerably augmented by a new 
auxiliary, the expectation. But though, after a num- 
ber of strokes, we expect still more, not being able to 
ascertain the exact time of their arrival, when they 
arrive, they produce a sort of surprise, which increases 
this tension yet farther ; for I have observed, that 
when at any time I have waited very earnestly for 
some sound, that returned at intervals (as the succes- 
sive firing of cannon), though I fully expected the re- 
turn of the sound, when it came it always made me 
start a little : the ear-drum suffered a convulsion, and 
the whole body consented with it. The tension of the 
part thus increasing at every blow by the united forces 
of the stroke itself, the expectation, and the surprise, it 
is worked up to such a pitch as to be capable of the 

How is the ear affected in receiving any simple sound ? If the stroke be 
strong, what is the consequence ? If it be repeated, what expectation is ex- 
cited ? and what must be observed ? How is this apparent ? and by what is 
the effect augmented ? How is this tension still farther increased ? How is 
this illustrated ? How does the tension become capable of the sublime T 

P 2 



1114: ON THE SUBLIME 

sublime ; it is brought just to the verge of pain. Even 
when the cause has ceased, the organs of hearing, be- 
ing often successively struck in a similar manner, con- 
tinue to vibrate in that manner for some time longer ; 
this is an additional help to the greatness of the effect. 



SECTION XII. 

THE VIBRATIONS MUST BE SIMILAR. 

But if the vibration be not similar at every impres- 
sion, it can never be carried beyond the number of 
actual impressions ; for, move any body, as a pendulum, 
in one way, and it will continue to oscillate in an arch 
of the same circle until the known causes make it rest ; 
but if, after first putting it in motion in one direction, 
you push it into another, it can never reassume the 
first direction, because it can never move itself, and, 
consequently, it can have but that effect of the last 
motion ; whereas, if in the same direction you act upon 
it several times, it will describe a greater arch, and 
move a longer time. 



SECTION XIII. 

THE EFFECT OF SUCCESSION IN VISUAL OBJECTS 
EXPLAINED. 

If we can comprehend clearly how things operate 

What is an additional help to the greatness of the effect ? 

How is it illustrated, that if the vibration be not similar at every impres 
sion, it can not be carried beyond their actual number ? What will be the 
consequence, after having put it in motion in one direction, of moving it 
into another? What will result from acting upon it several times in the 
same direction '! 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 175 

upon one of our senses, there can be very little difficul- 
ty in conceiving in v^^hat manner they affect the rest. 
To say a great deal, therefore, upon the corresponding 
affections of every sense, would tend rather to fatigue 
us by a useless repetition, than to throw any new light 
upon the subject, by that ample and diffuse manner of 
treating it ; but as, in this discourse, we chiefly attach 
ourselves to the sublime as it affects the eye, we shall 
consider particularly why a successive disposition of 
uniform parts in the same right line should be sublime,* 
and upon what principle this disposition is enabled to 
make a comparatively small quantity of matter pro- 
duce a grander effect than a much larger quantity dis- 
posed in another manner. To avoid the perplexity of 
general notions, let us set before our eyes a colonnade 
of uniform pillars planted in a right line ; let us take 
our stand in such a manner that the eye may shoot 
along this colonnade, for it has its best effect in this 
view. In our present situation, it is plain that the rays 
from the first round pillar will cause in the eye a vi- 
bration of that species — an image of the pillar itself 
The pillar immediately succeeding increases it ; that 
which follows renews and enforces the impression ; 
each in its order, as it succeeds, repeats impulse after 
impulse, and stroke after stroke, until the eye, long ex- 
ercised in one particular way, can not lose that object 
immediately; and, being violently roused by this con- 
tinued agitation, it presents the mind with a grand or 

What results from a clear comprehension of the manner in which things 
operate upon one of the senses? To what, therefore, would saying much 
upon the corresponding affections of every sense tend ? To what, in this 
discourse, shall we attach ourselves ? and what shall we consider ? How 
shall we avoid the perplexity of general notions ? In this situation, how 
will the successive pillars affect us ? 

* Part ii., sect. x. 



176 ON THE SUBLIME, 

sublime conception. But, instead of viewing a rank 
of uniform pillars, let us suppose that they succeed 
each other, a round and a square one alternately. In 
this case, the vibration caused by the first round pillar 
perishes as soon as it is formed ; and one of quite an- 
other sort (the square) directly occupies its place, 
which, however, it resigns as quickly to the round one ; 
and thus the eye proceeds alternately, taking up one 
image and laying down another, as long as the build- 
ing continues : from whence it is obvious that, at the 
last pillar, the impression is as far from continuing as 
it was at the very first ; because, in fact, the sensory 
can receive no distinct impression but from the last, 
and it can never of itself resume a dissimilar impres- 
sion; besides, every variation of the object is a rest 
and relaxation to the organs of sight ; and these reliefs 
prevent that powerful emotion so necessary to produce 
the sublime. To produce, therefore, a perfect gran- 
deur in such things as we have been mentioning, there 
should be a perfect simplicity, an absolute uniformity 
in disposition, shape, and coloring. Upon this princi- 
ple of succession and uniformity it may be asked. Why 
a long, bare wall should not be a more sublime object 
than a colonnade, since the succession is no way inter- 
rupted, since the eye meets no check, since nothing 
more uniform can be conceived ? A long, bare wall 
is certainly not so grand an object as a colonnade of 
the same length and height. It is not altogether diffi- 

How would we be affected by an alternate succession of round and square 
pillars ? From this what is obvious, and why ? Of every variation of the 
object, what is observed? To produce, therefore, a perfect grandeur in 
such things, what is requisite? Upon this principle of succession and uni- 
formity, what question may arise ? How can you account for the diflFerent 
impression made by a long, bare wall, and a colonnade of the same length 
and height ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 177 

cult to account for this difference. When we look at 
a naked wall, from the evenness of the object, the eye 
runs along its v*^hole space, and arrives quickly at its 
termination ; the eye meets nothing which may inter- 
rupt its progress ; but then it meets nothing which may 
detain it a proper time to produce a very great and 
lasting effect. The view of a bare wall, if it be of a 
great height and length, is undoubtedly grand : but 
this is only one idea, and not a repetition of similar 
ideas ; it is therefore great, not so much upon the prin- 
ciple of infinity, as upon that of vastness. But we are 
not so powerfully affected with any one impulse, un- 
less it be one of a prodigious force indeed, as we are 
with a succession of similar impulses ; because the 
nerves of the sensory do not (if I may use the expres- 
sion) acquire a habit of repeating the same feeling in 
such a manner as to continue it longer than its cause 
is in action ; besides, all the effects which I have attrib- 
uted to expectation and surprise, in sect, ii., can have 
no place in a bare wall. 



SECTION XIV. 

LOCKE S OPINION CONCERNING DARKNESS CONSIDERED. 

It is Mr. Locke's opinion that darkness is not natu- 
rally an idea of terror ; and that, though an excessive 
light is painful to the sense, that the greatest excess of 
darkness is in no way troublesome. He observes, in- 

Why is the view of a wall of great height and length grand ? Why are we 
not so powerfully affected with any one impulse as we are with a succes- 
sion of similar impulses ? Besides, what eifects can have no place in a bare 
wall? 

What is Mr. Locke's opinion of darkness ? What does he observe in an 
other place ? 

P2 



178 ON THE SUBLIME 

deed, in another place, that a nurse, or an old woman, 
having once associated the ideas of ghosts and goblins 
with that of darkness, night ever after becomes pain- 
ful and horrible to the imagination. The authority of 
this great man is doubtless as great as that of any man 
can be, and it seems to stand in the way of our gener- 
al principle.* We have considered darkness as a 
cause of the sublime, and we have all along consider- 
ed the sublime as depending on some modification of 
pain or terror ; so that, if darkness be in n.o way pain- 
ful or terrible to any who have not had their minds 
early tainted with superstitions, it can be no source of 
the sublime to them. But, with all deference to such 
an authority, it seems to me that an association of a 
more general nature, an association which takes in all 
mankind, may make darkness terrible : for, in utter 
darkness, it is impossible to know in what degree of 
safety we stand ; we are ignorant of the objects that 
surround us ; we may every moment strike against 
some dangerous obstruction ; we may fall down a 
precipice the first step we take ; and, if an enemy ap- 
proach, we know not in what quarter to defend our- 
selves : in such a case strength is no sure protection ; 
wisdom can only act by guess.; the boldest are stag- 
gered; and he who would pray for nothing else to- 
ward his defense, is forced to pray for light : 

Zeu ndrep, aX?i,a av pvaai vtt' ^ipog viae 'Axaii^v, 
UoLTjaov 6' aWprjv, dog 6' ocpdaTi-fiotcnv IdeadaL- 
'Ev 6e <j>det koI blecaov. — Hom., II., xvii., 645. 

Of the authority of this great man, what is said ? How have we consid- 
ered darkness ? and how have we all along considered the sublime ? What, 
therefore, follows ? Why may an association of a more general nature make 
darkness terrible ? Of strength and wisdom under such circumstances, what 
is remarked? and what is the consequence? 

* Part ii., sect. iii. 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 179 

" Dispel this cloud, the light of heaven restore ; 
Give me to see, and Ajax asks no more : 
If Greece must perish, we thy will obey, 
But let us perish in the face of day." 

As to the association of ghosts and gobhns, surely it 
is more natural to think that darkness, being originally 
an idea of terror, was chosen as a fit scene for such 
terrible representations, than that such representations 
have made darkness terrible. The mind of man very 
easily slides into an error of the former sort ; but it is 
very hard to imagine that the effect of an idea so uni- 
versally terrible in all times and in all countries, as 
darkness, could possibly have been owing to a set of 
idle stories, or to any cause of a nature so trivial, and 
of an operation so precarious. 



SECTION XV. 

DARKNESS TERRIBLE IN ITS OWN NATURE. 

Perhaps it may appear, on inquiry, that blackness 
and darkness are, in some degree, painful by their 
natural operation, independent of any associations 
whatsoever. I must observe, that the ideas of dark- 
ness and blackness are much the same ; and they differ 
only in this, that blackness is a more confined idea. 
Mr. Cheselden has given us a very curious story of a 
boy who had been born blind, and continued so until 
he was thirteen or fourteen years old ; he was then 
couched for a cataract, by which operation he receiv- 
ed his sight. Among many remarkable particulars 

Repeat Ajax's prayer. Of the association of ghosts and goblins, what is said ? 
Though the mind of man very easily slides into an error of the former kind, 
yet what is it very hard to imagine ? 

What may, perhaps, on inquiry, appear ? Of the ideas of darkness and 
blackness, what is observed? What .story has Mr. Cheselden given us? 



180 ON THE SUBLIME 

that attended his first perceptions and judgments on 
visual objects, Cheselden tells us, that the first time 
the boy saw a black object, it gave him great uneasi- 
ness ; and that, some time after, upon accidentally see- 
ing a negro woman, he was struck with great horror 
at the sight. The horror in this case can scarcely be 
supposed to arise from any association. The boy ap- 
pears, by the account, to have been particularly ob- 
serving and sensible for one of his age ; and therefore 
it is probable, if the great uneasiness be felt at the first 
sight of black had arisen from its connection with any 
other disagreeable ideas, he would have observed and 
mentioned it ; for an idea, disagreeable only by asso- 
ciation, has the cause of its ill effect on the passions 
evident enough at the first impression : in ordinary 
cases, it is indeed frequently lost ; but this is because 
the original association was made very early, and the 
consequent impression repeated often. In our instance, 
there was no time for such a habit ; and there is no 
reason to think that the ill effects of black on his im- 
agination were more owing to its connection with any 
disagreeable ideas than that the good effects of more 
cheerful colors were derived from their connection 
with pleasing ones. They had both, probably, their 
effects from their natural operation. 



SECTION XVI. 

WHY DARKNESS IS TERRIBLE. 

It may be worth while to examine how darkness 

Among many remarkable particulars that attended his first perceptions of 
visual objects, what are mentioned? Why can not the horror in this case 
be supposed to arise from any association ? Why is this, in ordinary cases, 
lost ? As in this instance there was no time for such a habit, what follows ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 181 

can operate in such a manner as to cause pain. It is 
observable that, still as we recede from the light, na- 
ture has so contrived it that the pupil is enlarged by 
the retiring of the iris, in proportion to om' recess. 
Now, instead of declining from it but a little, suppose 
that we withdraw entirely from the light, it is reason- 
able to think that the contraction of the radial fibres 
of the iris is proportionably greater ; and that this part 
may, by great darkness, come to be so contracted as 
to strain the nerves that compose it beyond their natu- 
ral tone, and by this means to produce a painful sen- 
sation. Such a tension, it seems, there certainly is, 
while we are involved in darkness ; for, in such a state, 
while the eye remains open, there is a continual nisus 
to receive light : this is manifest from the flashes and 
luminous appearances which often seem, in these cir- 
cumstances, to play before it, and which can be noth- 
ing but the effect of spasms produced by its own ef- 
forts in pursuit of its object : several other strong im- 
pulses will produce the idea of light in the eye besides 
the substance of light itself, as we experience on many 
occasions. Some, who allow darkness to be a cause 
of the subhme, would infer, from the dilatation of the 
pupil, that a relaxation may be productive of the sub- 
lime as well as a convulsion : but they do not, I be- 
lieve, consider that, although the circular ring of the 
iris be in some sense a sphincter, which may possibly 
be dilated by a simple relaxation, yet in one respect it 

WTiat examination is worthy of our attention ? and what is observable ? 
If, instead of declining from the light but a little, we withdraw from it alto- 
gether, what is it reasonable to suppose would be the consequence ? How 
does it appear that there is such a tension while we are involved in dark- 
ness? From what is this manifest? Of other strong impulses, what is 
said? What would some who allow darkness to be a cause of the sub- 
lime infer? but what do they not consider? 

Q 



182 ON THE SUBLIME 

differs from most of the other sphincters of the body ; 
that it is furnished with antagonist muscles, which are 
the radial fibres of the iris : no sooner does the circu- 
lar muscle begin to relax, than these fibres, wanting 
their counterpoise, are forcibly drawn back, and open 
the pupil to a considerable wideness. But though we 
were not apprized of this, I believe any one will find, 
if he opens his eyes, and makes an effort to see in a 
dark place, that a very perceivable pain ensues. And 
I nave heard some ladies remark that, after having 
worked a long time upon a ground of black, their eyes 
were so pained and weakened they could hardly see. 
It may, perhaps, be objected to this theory of the me- 
chanical effect of darkness, that the ill effects of dark- 
ness or blackness seem rather mental than corporeal ; 
and I own it is true that they do so ; and so do all 
those that depend on the affections of the finer parts 
of our system. The ill eflfects of bad weather appear 
often no otherwise than in a melancholy and dejection 
of spirits ; though, without doubt, in this case, the bod- 
ily organs suffer first, and the mind through these or- 
gans. 



SECTION XVII. 

THE EFFECTS OF BLACKNESS. 

Blackness is but a partial darkness ; and, there- 
fore, it derives some of its powers from being mixed 
and surrounded with colored bodies. In its own na- 

Without being apprized of this, what will any one find who opens his ejres. 
and attempts to see in a dark place ? What do ladies frequently remark ? 
What objection may be raised to this theory of the mechanical effects of 
darkness? What is said of this objection? and how is it illustrated from 
the effects of bad weather ? 

Of blackness and of black bodies, what is remarked? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 183 

ture it cannot be considered as a color. Black bodies, 
reflecting none, or but a few rays, with regard to sight, 
are but as so many vacant spaces dispersed among 
the objects we view. When the eye lights on one of 
these vacuities, after having been kept in some degree 
of tension by the play of the adjacent colors upon it, it 
suddenly falls into a relaxation ; out of which it as sud- 
denly recovers by a compulsive spring. To illustrate 
this, let us consider that when we intend to sit in a 
chair, and find it much lower than we expected, the 
shock is very violent ; much more violent than could 
be thought from so slight a fall as the difference be- 
tween one chair and another can possibly make. If, 
after descending a flight of stairs, we attempt inadver- 
tently to take another step in the manner of the former 
ones, the shock is extremely rude and disagreeable ; 
and by no art can we cause such a shock by the same 
means when we expect and prepare for it. When I 
say that this is owing to having the change made con- 
trary to expectation, I do not mean solely when the 
mind expects : I mean likewise, that when any organ 
of sense is for some time affected in some one manner, 
if it be suddenly affected otherwise, there ensues a con- 
vulsive motion ; such a convulsion as is caused when 
any thing happens against the expectance of the mind. 
And though it may appear strange that such a change 
as produces a relaxation should immediately produce 
a sudden convulsion, it is yet most certainly so, and so 
in all senses. Every one knows that sleep is a relax- 
ation ; and that silence, where nothing keeps the or- 

What effect is produced when the eye lights upon one of these vacuities ? 
How is this illustrated ? When our author says that this is owing to hav- 
ing the change made contrary to expectation, what does he mean? How 
does it appear that such a change as produces a relaxation, at the same 
time produces a sudden convulsion also? 



184 ON THE SUBLIME 

gans of hearing in action, is in general fittest to bring 
on this relaxation ; yet, when a sort of murmuring 
sounds dispose a man to sleep, let these sounds cease 
suddenly, and the person immediately awakes ; that is, 
the parts are braced up suddenly, and he awakes. 
This I have often experienced myself; and I have 
heard the same from observing persons. In like man- 
ner, if a person in broad daylight were falling asleep, 
to introduce a sudden darkness would prevent his sleep 
for that time, though silence and darkness in them- 
selves, and not suddenly introduced, are very favora- 
ble to it. This I knew only by conjecture on the anal- 
ogy of the senses, when I first digested these observa- 
tions ; but I have since experienced it. And I have 
often experienced, and so have a thousand others, that, 
on the first inclining toward sleep, we have been sud- 
denly awakened with a most violent start, and that 
this start was generally preceded by a sort of dream 
of our falling down a precipice. Whence does this 
strange motion arise, but from the too sudden relaxa- 
tion of the body, which, by some mechanism in nature, 
restores itself by as quick and vigorous an exertion of 
the contracting power of the muscles ? The dream it- 
self is caused by this relaxation ; and it is of too uni- 
form a nature to be attributed to any other cause. The 
parts relax too suddenly, which is in the nature of fall- 
ing ; and this accident of the body induces this image 
in the mind. When we are in a confirmed state of 
health and vigor, as all changes are then less sudden, 
and less on the extreme, we can seldom complain of 
this disagreeable sensation. 

What have we all frequently experienced ? Whence does this strange mo- 
tion arise ? Of the dream itself, what is observed ? When can we seldom 
complain of this disagreeable sensation, and why? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 185 

SECTION XVIII. 

THE EFFECTS OF BLACKNESS MODERATED. 

Though the eflects of black be painful originally, we 
must not think they always continue so. Custom rec- 
onciles us to every thing. After we have been used 
to the sight of black objects, the terror abates, and the 
smoothness and glossiness, or some agreeable accident 
of bodies so colored, softens in some measure the hor- 
ror and sternness of their original nature ; yet the na- 
ture of the original impression still continues. Black 
will always have something melancholy in it, because 
the sensory will always find the change to it, from oth- 
er colors, too violent ; or, if it occupy the whole com- 
pass of the sight, it will then be darkness ; and what 
was said of darkness will be applicable here. I do not 
purpose to go into all that might be said to illustrate 
this theory of the effects of light and darkness ; neither 
will I examine all the different effects produced by the 
various modifications and mixtures of these two causes. 
If the foregoing observations have any foundation in 
nature, I conceive them very sufficient to account for 
all the phenomena that can arise from all the combina- 
tions of black with other colors. To enter into every 
particular, or to answer every objection, would be an 
endless labor. We have only followed the most lead- 
ing roads ; and we shall observe the same conduct in 
our inquiry into the cause of beauty. 

Of the effects of black, what is observed ? In what manner do we be 
come reconciled to it ? Why will black always have something melancholy 
in it ? What is not intended to be done ? Of the foregoing observations, 
what is observed ? What would be an endless labor ? What have we done, 
and what shall we do ? 

0,2 



186 ON THE SUBLIME 

SECTION XIX. 

THE PHYSICAL CAUSE OF LOVE. 

When we have before us such objects as excite love 
and complacency, the body is affected, so far as I could 
observe, much in the follov^^ing manner : The head re- 
clines something on one side ; the eyelids are more 
closed than usual, and the eyes roll gently with an in- 
clination to the object ; the mouth is a little opened, and 
the breath drawn slowly, with now and* then a low 
sigh ; the whole body is composed, and the hands fall 
idly to the sides. All this is accompanied with an in- 
ward sense of melting and languor. These appearan- 
ces are always proportioned to the degree of beauty 
in the object, and of sensibility in the observer. And 
this gradation from the highest pitch of beauty and sen- 
sibility, even to the lowest of mediocrity and indiffer- 
ence, and their correspondent effects, ought to be kept 
in view, else this description will seem exaggerated, 
which it certainly is not. But, from this description, 
it is almost impossible not to conclude that beauty acts 
by relaxing the solids of the whole system. There are 
all the appearances of such a relaxation ; and a relax- 
ation somewhat below the natural tone seems to me to 
be the cause of all positive pleasure. Who is a stran- 
ger to that manner of expression so common in all times 
and in all countries, of being softened, relaxed, ener- 
vated, dissolved, melted away by pleasure ? The uni- 
versal voice of mankind, faithful to their feelings, con- 

When we have before us such objects as excite love and complacency, 
how is the body affected ■ With what is all this accompanied ? To what 
are these appearances always proportioned ? How ought this gradation to 
be kept in view, and why ? From this description, what conclusion is ne- 
cessarily drawn ? What seems to be the cause of all positive pleasure ? In 
affirming what uniform and general effect does the voice of mankind concur? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 187 

curs in affirming this uniform and general effect ; and 
although some odd and particular instance may perhaps 
be found, wherein there appears a considerable degree 
of positive pleasure, without all the characters of re- 
laxation, we must not, therefore, reject the conclusion 
we had drawn from a concurrence of many experi- 
ments ; but we must still retain it, subjoining the ex- 
ceptions which may occur, according to the judicious 
rule laid down by Sir Isaac Newton in the third book 
of his Optics. Our position will, I conceive, appear 
confirmed beyond any reasonable doubt, if we can 
show that such things as we have already observed to 
be the genuine constituents of beauty, have each of 
them, separately taken, a natural tendency to relax the 
fibres. And if it must be allowed us, that the appear- 
ance of the human body, when all these constituents 
are united together before the sensory, farther favors 
this opinion, we may venture, I believe, to conclude 
that the passion called love is produced by this relax- 
ation. By the same method of reasoning which we 
have used in the inquiry into the causes of the sublime, 
we may likewise conclude, that as a beautiful object 
presented to the sense, by causing a relaxation in the 
body, produces the passion of love in the mind ; so, if 
by any means the passion should first have its origin 
in the mind, a relaxation of the outward organs will 
as certainly ensue in a degree proportioned to the 
cause. 

What is not sufficient to induce us to reject the conclusion we have drawn ? 
But with what exceptions must we retain it ? By showing what will oui 
position appear confirmed beyond any reasonable doubt ? With what con- 
cession may we venture to conclude that the passion called love is produ- 
ced by this relaxation? By the method of reasoning used in the inquiry 
into the causes of the sublime, what farther conclusion may be drawn ? and 
what follows? 



188 ON THE SlJBLIME 

SECTION XX. 

WHY SMOOTHNESS IS BEAUTIFUL. 

It is to explain the true cause of visual beauty that 
I call in the assistance of the other senses. If it ap- 
pears that smoothness is a principal cause of pleasure 
to the touch, taste, smell, and hearing, it will be easily 
admitted a constituent of visual beauty ; especially as 
we have before shown that this quality is found, almost 
without exception, in all bodies that are by general con- 
sent held beautiful. There can be no doubt that bod- 
ies which are rough and angular rouse and vellicate 
the organs of feeling, causing a sense of pain, which 
consists in the violent tension or contraction of the 
muscular fibres. On the contrary, the application of 
smooth bodies relax ; gentle stroking with a smooth 
hand allays violent pains and cramps, and relaxes the 
suffering parts from their unnatural tension ; and it 
has, therefore, very often, no mean eflect in removing 
swellings and obstructions. The sense of feeling is 
highly gratified with smooth bodies. A bed smoothly 
laid, and soft, that is, where the resistance is every way 
inconsiderable, is a great luxury, disposing to a univer- 
sal relaxation, and inducing, beyond any thing else, 
that species of it called sleep. 



SECTION XXL 

sweetness, its nature. 
Nor is it only in the touch that smooth bodies cause 

For what purpose is the assistance of other senses called in ? With 
what concession will it be easily admitted that smoothness is a constituent 
of visual beauty? Of what can there be no doubt? How does it appear 
that the application of smooth bodies relax ? From what does it appear 
that the sense of feeling is highly gratified with smooth bodies ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 189 

positive pleasure by relaxation. In the smell and taste 
we find all things agreeable to them, and which are 
commonly called sweet, to be of a smooth nature, and 
that they all evidently tend to relax their respective 
sensories. Let us first consider the taste. Since it is 
most easy to inquire into the property of liquids, and 
since all things seem to want a fluid vehicle to make 
them tasted at all, I intend rather to consider the liquid 
than the solid parts of our food. The vehicles of all 
tastes are water and oil; and what determines the 
taste is some salt, which aflects variously, according to 
its nature, or its manner of being combined with other 
things. Water and oil, simply considered, are capable 
of giving some pleasure to the taste. Water, when 
simple, is insipid, inodorous, colorless, and smooth ; it 
is found, when not cold, to be a great resolver of spasms, 
and lubricator of the fibres : this power it probably 
owes to its smoothness ; for as fluidity depends, ac- 
cording to the most general opinion, on the roundness, 
smoothness, and weak cohesion of the component parts 
of any body, and as water acts merely as a simple 
fluid, it follows that the cause of its fluidity is likewise 
the cause of its relaxing quality; namely, the smooth- 
ness and slippery texture of its parts. The other fluid 
vehicle of tastes is oil. This, too, when simple, is in- 
sipid, inodorous, colorless, and smooth to the touch and 
taste. It is smoother than water, and in many cases 
yet more relaxing. Oil is in some degree pleasant to 
the eye, the touch, and the taste, insipid as it is. Wa- 
ter is not so grateful ; for which I do not know on what 

In the smell and taste, what do we find? Why are the liquid, rather 
than the solid parts of our food, considered? What are the vehicles of 
tastes ? What is it that determines the taste ? Of water, what is observ- 
ed ? Why is this owing to its smoothness ? What is observed of oil ? Why 
is not water as grateful to the eye as oil? 



190 ON THE SUBLIME 

principle to account, other than that water is not so 
soft and smooth. Suppose that to this oil or water 
were added a certain quantity of a specific salt, which 
had a power of putting the nervous papillse of the 
tongue into a gentle vibratory motion : as, suppose 
sugar dissolved in it ; the smoothness of the oil, and 
the vibratory power of the salt, cause the sense we call 
sweetness. In all sweet bodies, sugar, or a substance 
very little different from sugar, is constantly found : 
every species of salt, examined by the microscope, has 
its own distinct, regular, invariable form. That of 
nitre is a pointed oblong ; that of sea-salt an exact 
cube ; that of sugar a perfect globe. If you have tried 
how smooth globular bodies, as the marbles with which 
boys amuse themselves, have affected the touch when 
they are rolled backward and forward, and over one 
another, you will easily conceive how sweetness, which 
consists in a salt of such nature, affects the taste ; for a 
single globe, though somewhat pleasant to the feeling, 
yet, by the regularity of its form, and the somewhat 
too sudden deviation of its parts from a right line, it is 
nothing near so pleasant to the touch as several globes, 
where the hand gently rises to one and falls to another; 
and this pleasure is greatly increased if the globes are 
in motion, and sliding over one another ; for this soft 
variety prevents that weariness which the uniform dis- 
position of the several globes would otherwise produce. 
Thus, in sweet liquors, the parts of the fluid vehicle, 
though most probably round, are yet so minute as to 
conceal the figure of their component parts from the 

How is the sense which we call sweetness caused ? In all sweet bodies, 
what is constantly found ? What has every species of salt ? What exam- 
ples are given '{ By what experience may we easily conceive how sweet- 
ness affects the taste, and why ? When is this pleasure greatly increased, 
and why? How is this illustrated ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 191 

nicest inquisition of the microscope ; and, consequent- 
ly, being so excessively minute, they have a sort of flat 
simplicity to the taste, resembling the effects of plain, 
smooth bodies to the touch ; for, if a body be compo- 
sed of round parts excessively small, and packed pret- 
ty closely together, the surface will be, both to the 
sight and touch, as if it were nearly plain and smooth. 
It is clear, from their unveiling their figure to the mi- 
croscope, that the particles of sugar are considerably 
larger than those of water or oil ; and, consequently, 
that their effects from their roundness will be more dis- 
tinct and palpable to the nervous papillfe of that nice 
organ the tongue : they will induce that sense called 
sweetness, which in a weak manner we discover in oil, 
and in a yet weaker in water ; for, insipid as they are, 
water and oil are in some degree sweet ; and it may 
be observed, that insipid things of all kinds approach 
more nearly to the nature of sweetness than to that of 
any other taste. 



SECTION XXII. 

SWEETNESS RELAXING. 

In the other senses, we have remarked that smooth 
things are relaxing. Now it ought to appear that 
sweet things, which are the smooth of taste, are relax- 
ing too. It is remarkable that, in some languages, 
soft and sweet have but one name. Doux, in French, 



As the particles of sugar are considerably larger than those of water or oil, 
what is the consequence ? What sense will they induce ? and of it what is 
observed ? 

Why should it appear that sweet things are relaxing ? Of soft and sweet, 
what is remarkable ? What examples are given ? 



19^ ON THE SUBLIME 

signifies soft as well as sweet. The Latin dulcis, and 
the Italian duke, have in many cases the same double 
signification. That sweet things are generally relax- 
ing, is evident ; because all such, especially those 
which are most oily, taken frequently, or in a large 
quantity, very much enfeeble the tone of the stomach. 
Sweet smells, which bear a very great affinity to sweet 
tastes, relax very remarkably. The smell of flowers 
disposes people to drowsiness ; and this relaxing ef- 
fect is farther apparent from the prejudice which peo- 
ple of weak nerves receive from their use. It were 
worth while to examine whether tastes of this kind, 
sweet ones, tastes that are caused by smooth oils and 
a relaxing salt, are not the originally pleasant tastes ; 
for many, which use has rendered such, were not at 
all agreeable at first. The way to examine this is to 
try what Nature has originally provided for us, which 
she has undoubtedly made originally pleasant, and to 
analyze this provision. Milk is the first support of 
our childhood. The component parts of this are wa- 
ter, oil, and a sort of a very sweet salt, called the su- 
gar of milk. All these, when blended, have a great 
smoothness to the taste, and a relaxing quality to the 
skin. The next thing children covet is fruit, and of 
fruits those principally which are sweet; and every 
one knows that the sweetness of fruit is caused by a 
subtile oil, and such a salt as that mentioned in the 
last section. Afterward, custom, habit, the desire of 
novelty, and a thousand other causes, confound, adul- 
terate, and change our palates, so that we can no lon- 

Why is it evident that sweet things are generally relaxing? Of sweet 
smells, and of the smell of flowers, what is observed ? What examination 
is worth our attention, and why? In what way are we to examine this ? 
How is this^ illustrated ? How do our palates become confounded and 
changed ? 



AND BiSAUTIFUL. 193 

ger reason with any satisfaction about them. Before 
we quit this article, we must observe, that as smooth 
things are, as such, agreeable to the taste, and are 
found of a relaxing quality ; so, on the other hand, 
things which are found by experience to be of a 
strengthening quality, and fit to brace the fibres, are 
almost universally rough and pungent to the taste, and 
in many cases rough even to the touch. We often ap- 
ply the quality of sweetness, metaphorically, to visual 
objects. For better carrying on this remarkable anal- 
ogy of the senses, we may here call sweetness the 
beautiful of the taste. 



SECTION XXIII. 

VARIATION, WHY BEAUTIFUL. 

Another principal property of beautiful ojects is, 
that the line of their parts is continually varying its 
direction ; but it varies it by a very insensible devia- 
tion ; it never varies so quickly as to surprise, or by 
the sharpness of its angle to cause any twitching or 
convulsion of the optic nerve. Nothing long contin- 
ued, in the same manner, nothing very suddenly va- 
ried, can be beautiful ; because both are opposite to 
that agreeable relaxation, which is the characteristic 
efiect of beauty. It is thus in all the senses. A mo- 
tion in a right line is that manner of moving next to a 

What observation must be made before we quit this article ? To what do 
we often metaphorically apply the quality of sweetness ? Why shall we 
call it the beautiful of taste ? 

What is another principal property of beautiful objects ? Of its varia- 
tion, what is observed ? Why can not things continued long in the same 
manner, or that vary suddenly, be beautiful ? How does it appear that it 
is thus in all the senses ? 

R 



104 ON THE SUBLIME 

very gentle descent, in which we meet the least re- 
sistance : yet it is not that manner of moving which, 
next to a descent, wearies us the least. Rest certainly 
tends to relax ; yet there is a species of motion which 
relaxes more than rest ; a gentle oscillatory motion, a 
rising and falling. Rocking sets children to sleep bet- 
ter than absolute rest: there is, indeed, scarcely any 
thing at that age which gives more pleasure than to be 
gently lifted up and down ; the manner of playing 
which their nurses use with children, and the weigh- 
ing and swinging used afterward by themselves as a 
favorite amusement, evince this very sufficiently. 
Most people must have observed the sort of sense they 
have had, on being swiftly drawn in an easy coach on 
a smooth turf, with gradual ascents and declivities. 
This will give a better idea of the beautiful, and point 
out its probable cause better than almost any thing 
else. On the contrary, when one is hurried over a 
rough, rocky, broken road, the pain felt by these sud- 
den inequalities shows why similar sights, feelings, and 
sounds are so contrary to beauty ; and, with regard to 
the feeling, it is exactly the same in its effect, or very 
neai'ly the same, whether, for instance, I move my 
hand along the surface of a body of a certain shape, 
or whether such a body is moved along my hand. 
But to bring this analogy of the senses home to the 
eye: if a body presented to that sense has such a 
waving surface that the rays of light reflected from it 
are in a continual insensible deviation from the strong- 
est to the weakest (which is always the case in a sur- 

What must most people have observed? Of what will this give a better 
idea than almost any thing else? What is the effect of being hurried over 
a rough, rocky, broken road? How is this analogy of the senses brought 
home to the eye ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 195 

face gradually unequal), it must be exactly similar in 
its effect on the eye and touch ; upon the one of which 
it operates directly, on the other indirectly ; and this 
body will be beautiful if the lines which compose its 
surface are not continued, even so varied, in a manner 
that may weary or dissipate the attention. The varia- 
tion itself must be continually varied. 



SECTION XXIV. 

CONCERNING SMALLNESS. 

To avoid a sameness which may arise from the too 
frequent repetition of the same reasonings, and of illus- 
trations of the same nature, I will not enter very mi- 
nutely into every particular that regards beauty, as it 
is founded on the disposition of its quantity, or its quan- 
tity itself In speaking of the magnitude of bodies 
there is great uncertainty, because the ideas of great 
and small are terms almost entirely relative to the 
species of the objects, which are infinite. It is true 
that, having once fixed the species of any object, and 
the dimensions common in the individuals of that spe- 
cies, we may observe some that exceed, and some 
that fall short of, the ordinary standard : these which 
greatly exceed are by that excess, provided the species 
itself be not very small, rather great and terrible than 
beautiful ; but as in the animal world, and, in a good 
measure, in the vegetable world likewise, the qualities 
that constitute beauty may possibly be united to things 



Why does not our author enter very minutely into every particular that 
regards beauty? Why is there uncertainty in speaking of the magnitude 
of bodies? Having fixed the standard of any species, what may we ob« 
serve ? Of those that greatly exceed this standard, what is remarked ? 



196 ON THE SOBLIME 

of greater dimensions ; when they are so united, they 
constitute a species something different both from the 
subhme and beautiful, which I have before called j^we; 
but this kind, I imagine, has not such a power on the 
passions, either as vast bodies have which are endued 
with the correspondent qualities of the sublime ; or as 
the qualities of beauty have, when united in a small 
object. The affection produced by large bodies, adorn- 
ed with the spoils of beauty, is a tension continually 
relieved, which approaches to the nature of mediocri- 
ty. But if I were to say how I find myself affected 
upon such occasions, I should say that the sublime suf- 
fers less by being united to some of the qualities of 
beauty, than beauty does by being joined to greatness 
of quantity, or any other properties of the sublime. 
There is something so overruling in whatever inspires 
us with awe, in all things which belong ever so re- 
motely to terror, that nothing else can stand in their 
presence. There lie the qualities of beauty, either 
dead and unoperative, or, at most, exerted to mollify 
the rigor and sternness of the terror which is the nat- 
ural concomitant of greatness. Besides the extraor- 
dinary great in every species, the opposite to this, the 
dwarfish and diminutive, ought to be considered. Lit- 
tleness, merely as such, has nothing contrary to the 
idea of beauty. The humming-bird, both in shape and 
coloring, yields to none of the winged species, of which 
it is the least ; and perhaps his beauty is enhanced by 

When the qualities that constitute beauty are united to things of great di- 
mensions, what do they form ? Of this kind, what is observed ? What is 
the affection produced by large bodies ? How are beauty and the sub- 
lime on such occasions affected, and why ? In this case, what is said of the 
qualities of beauty ? Besides the extraordinary great, what ought to be 
considered? Of littleness merely as such, what is remarked? How 19 
this illustrated? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 197 

his smallness. But there are animals which, when 
they are extremely small, are rarely (if ever) beauti- 
ful. There is a dwarfish size of men and women, 
which is almost constantly so gross and massive in 
comparison of their height, that they present us with a 
very disagreeable image. But should a man be found 
not above two or three feet high, supposing such a per- 
son to have all the parts of his body of a dehcacy suit- 
able to such a size, and otherwise endued with the 
common qualities of other beautiful bodies, I am pretty 
well convinced that a person of such a stature might 
be considered as beautiful ; might be the object of love; 
might give us very pleasing ideas on viewing him. 
The only thing which could possibly interpose to check 
our pleasure is, that such creatures, however formed, 
are unusual, and are often, therefore, considered as 
something monstrous. The large and gigantic, though 
very compatible with the sublime, is contrary to the 
beautiful. It is impossible to suppose a giant the ob- 
ject of love. When we let our imagination loose in 
romance, the ideas we naturally annex to that size are 
those of tyranny, cruelty, injustice, and every thing 
horrid and abominable. We paint the giant ravaging 
the country, plundering the innocent traveler, and af- 
terward gorged with his half-living flesh : such are 
Polyphemus, Cacus, and others, who make so great a 
figure in romances and heroic poems. The event we 
attend to with the greatest satisfaction is their defeat 
and death. I do not remember, in all that multitude 

What animals, when extremely small, are rarely beautiful? A dwarf of 
what description might be the object of love ? What is the only thing in 
this case that could interpose to check our pleasure ? What is contrary to 
the beautiful, and why ? In romance, what ideas do we annex to them ? 
How do we paint them ? What examples are given ? To what event do 
we attend with the greatest satisfaction ? 

B 3 



198 ON THE SUBLIME 

of deaths with which the IKad is filled, that the fall of 
any man remarkable for his great stature and strength 
touches us with pity ; nor does it appear that the au- 
thor, so well read in human nature, ever intended it 
should. It is Simoisius in the soft bloom of youth, torn 
from his parents, who tremble for a courage so ill suit- 
ed to his strength ; it is another hurried by war from 
the new embraces of his bride, young and fair, and a 
novice to the field, who melts us by his untimely fate. 
Achilles, in spite of the many qualities of beauty which 
Homer has bestowed on his outward form, and the 
many great virtues with which he has adorned his 
mind, can never make us love him. It may be ob- 
served that Homer has given the Trojans, whose fate 
he has designed to excite our compassion, infinitely 
more of the amiable social virtues than he has distrib- 
uted among his Greeks. With regard to the Trojans, 
the passion he chooses to raise is pity ; pity is a pas- 
sion founded on love ; and these lesser, and if I may 
say domestic virtues, are certainly the most amiable. 
But he has made the Greeks far their superiors in pohtic 
and military virtues. The councils of Priam are weak ; 
the arms of Hector comparatively feeble ; his courage 
far below that of Achilles. Yet we love Priam more 
than Agamemnon, and tiector more than his conquer- 
or Achilles. Admiration is the passion which Homer 
would excite in favor of the Greeks, and he has done 
it by bestowing on them the virtues which have but 
little to do with love. This short digression is, per- 

How is this illustrated? For whom do we tremble ? and who melts us by 
his untimely fate ? What is said of Achilles ? Of the Trojans, what may 
be observed ? What passion was intended to be raised toward them, and 
why? Of the Greek and Trojan heroes, what is observed? How has 
Homer excited admiration in favor of the Greeks ? Why is not this digres- 
sion beside our purpose ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 199 

haps, not wholly beside our purpose, where our ousi- 
ness is to show that objects of great dimensions are in- 
compatible with beauty, the more incompatible as they 
are greater : whereas the small, if ever they fail of 
beauty, this failure is not to be attributed to their size. 



SECTION XXV. 

OF COLOR. 

With regard to color, the disquisition is almost in- 
finite ; but I conceive the principles laid down in the 
beginning of this part are sufficient to account for the 
effects of them all, as well as for the agreeable effects 
of transparent bodies, whether fluid or solid. Suppose 
I look at a bottle of muddy liquor, of a blue or red color: 
the blue or red rays can not pass clearly to the eye, 
but are suddenly and unequally stopped by the inter- 
vention of little opaque bodies, which, without prepara- 
tion, change the idea, and change it, too, into one dis- 
agreeable in its own nature, conformable to the prin- 
ciples laid down in section xxiv. But when the ray 
passes without such opposition through the glass or 
liquor, when the glass or liquor is quite transparent, 
the light is something softened in the passage, which 
makes it more agreeable even as light ; and the liquor 
reflecting all the rays of its proper color evenly, it has 
such an effect on the eye as smooth opaque bodies 
have on the eye and touch ; so that the pleasure here 
is compounded of the softness of the transmitted, and 
the evenness of the reflected light. This pleasure 
may be heightened by the common principles in other 



or what are the principles laid down at the beginning of this part sufR- 
t ? How is this illustrated ? How may this pleasure be heightened ? 



200 



ON THE SUBLIME 



things, if the shape of the glass which holds the trans- 
parent liquor is so judiciously varied as to present the 
color gradually and interchangeably weakened and 
strengthened with all the variety which judgment, in 
affairs of this nature, shall suggest. On a review of 
all that has been said of the effects, as well as the 
causes of both, it will appear that the sublime and 
beautiful are built on principles very different, and that 
their affections are as different : the great has terror 
for its basis, which, when it is modified, causes that 
emotion in the mind which I have called astonish- 
ment : the beautiful is founded on mere positive pleas- 
ure, and excites in the soul that feeling which is called 
love. Their causes have made the subject of this 
Fourth Part. 

In reviewing what has been said, what is the closing remark? 



AND BEAUTIFUI. 201 



PART V. 
SECTION L 

OF WORDS. 

Natural objects affect us by the laws of that con- 
nection which Providence has estabhshed between 
certain motions and configurations of bodies, and cer- 
tain consequent feeHngs in our minds. Painting af- 
fects in the same manner, but with the superadded 
pleasure of imitation. Architecture affects by the laws 
of nature and the law of reason ; from which latter re- 
sult the rules of proportion, which make a work to be 
praised or censured, in the whole or in some part, 
when the end for which it was designed is or is not 
properly answered. But as to words, they seem to 
me to affect us in a manner very different from that 
in which we are affected by natural objects, or by 
painting or architecture ; yet words have as consider- 
able a share in exciting ideas of beauty and of the 
sublime as any of those, and sometimes a much great- 
er than any of them : therefore, an inquiry into the 
manner by which they excite such emotions is far from 
being unnecessary in a discourse of this kind. 

By what laws do natural objects affect us ? How does painting affect 
us? How does architecture affect us? and from the latter what results f 
Of the manner in which words affect us, what is remarked ? In what have 
they a considerable share ? and what follows ? 



202 ON THE SUBLIME 



SECTION II. 

THE COMMON EFFECT OF POETRY, NOT BY RAISING IDEAS 
OF THINGS. 

The common notion of the power of poetry and 
eloquence, as well as that of words in ordinary con- 
versation, is, that they affect the mind by raising in it 
ideas of those things for which custom has appointed 
them to stand. To examine the truth of this notion, 
it may be requisite to observe, that words may be di- 
vided into three sorts. The first are such as represent 
many simple ideas, united hy nature, to form some one 
determinate composition, as man, horse, tree, castle, &c. 
These I call aggregate words. The second are those 
that stand for one simple idea of such compositions, 
and no more ; as red, blue, round, square, and the like. 
These I call simple abstract words. The third are 
those which are formed by a union, an arbitrary union 
of both the others, and of the various relations between 
them in greater or lesser degrees of complexity ; as 
virtue, honor, persuasion, magistrate, and the like. 
These I call compound abstract words. Words, I am 
sensible, are capable of being classed into more cu- 
rious distinctions ; but these seem to be natural, and 
enough for our purpose ; and they are disposed in that 
order in which they are commonly taught, and in which 
the mind gets the ideas for which they are substituted. 
I shall begin with the third sort of words, compound 
abstracts, such as virtue, honor, persuasion, docility. 

VThat is the common notion of the power of poetry and eloquence ? To 
examine this notion, what is requisite ? What are they ? In the classifi- 
cation of words, why is not a more curious distinction made ? With which 
sort does our author begin f 



And beautiful. ^OS 

Of these I am convinced that, whatever power they 
may have on the passions, they do not derive it from 
any representation raised in the mind of the things for 
which they stand. As compositions, they are not real 
essences, and hardly cause, I think, any real ideas. 
Nobody, I believe, immediately on hearing the sounds 
virtue, liberty, or honor, conceives any precise notions 
of the particular modes of action and thinking, to- 
gether with the mixed and simple ideas, and the sev- 
eral relations of them, for which these words are sub- 
stituted ; neither has he any general idea compounded 
of them ; for, if he had, then some of those particular 
ones, though indistinct, perhaps, and confused, might 
come soon to be perceived. But this, I take it, is 
hardly ever the case ; for, put yourself upon analyzing 
one of these words, and you must reduce it from one 
set of general words to another, and then into the sim- 
ple abstracts and aggregates, in a much longer series 
than may be at first imagined, before any real idea 
emerges to light, before you come to discover any thing 
like the first principles of such compositions; and, when 
you have made such a discovery of the original 
ideas, the effect of the composition is utterly lost. A 
train of thinking of this sort is much too long to be 
pursued in the ordinary ways of conversation ; nor is 
it at all necessary that it should. Such words are, in 
reality, but mere sounds ; but they are sounds which, 
being used on particular occasions, wherein we re- 
ceive some good, or suffer some evil, or see others af- 
fected with good or evil, or which we hear applied to 



Of these, of what is he convinced ? How does it appear that, as composi- 
tions, they are not real essences ? Why is this hardly ever the case ? 
What is remarked of a train of thinking of this sort ? Of such words, what 
is observed ? 



204 OJJ THE SUBLIMfi 

other interesting things or events ; and, being appHed 
in such a variety of cases that we know readily by 
habit to what things they belong, they produce in the 
mind, whenever they are afterward mentioned, effects 
similar to those of their occasions. The sounds being 
often used without reference to any particular occa- 
sion, and carrying still their first impressions, they at 
last utterly lose their connection with the particular 
occasions that gave rise to them ; yet the sound, with- 
out any annexed notion, continues to operate as before. 



SECTION III. 

GENERAL WORDS BEFORE IDEAS. 

Mr. Locke has somewhere observed, with his usual 
sagacity, that most general words, those belonging to 
virtue and vice, good and evil, especially, are taught 
before the particular modes of action to which they 
belong are presented to the mind ; and, with them, the 
love of the one and the abhorrence of the other : for 
the minds of children are so ductile, that a nurse, or 
any person about a child, by seeming pleased or dis- 
pleased with any thing, or even any word, may give 
the dispositions of the child a similar turn. When, af- 
terward, the several occurrences in life come to be ap- 
plied to these words, and that which is pleasant often 
appears under the name of the evil, and what is dis- 
agreeable to nature is called good and virtuous, a 
strange confusion of ideas and affections arises in the 

How do these sounds lose their connection with the particular occasions 
that gave rise to them ? 

What has Mr. Locke, with his usual sagacity, observed, and why? 
When the occurrences of life are afterward applied to these words, what is 
the consequence ? How is this illustrated ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 205 

minds of many, and an appearance of no small contra- 
diction between their notions and their actions. There 
are many who love virtue and who detest vice, and 
this not from hypocrisy or affectation, who, notwith- 
standing, very frequently act ill and wickedly in par- 
ticulars without the least remorse ; because these par- 
ticular occasions never came into view when the pas- 
sions on the side of virtue were so warmly affected by 
certain words, heated originally by the breath of oth- 
ers ; and, for this reason, it is hard to repeat certain 
sets of words, though owned by themselves unopera- 
tive, without being in some degree affected, especial- 
ly if a warm and affecting tone of voice accompanies 
them ; as, suppose, 

" Wise, valiant, generous, good, and great." 

These words, by having no application, ought to be 
unoperative ; but when words, commonly sacred to 
great occasions, are used, we are affected by them even 
without the occasions. When words, which have been 
generally so applied, are put together without any ra- 
tional view, or in such a manner that they do not right- 
ly agree with each other, the style is called bombast. 
And it requires, in several cases, much good sense and 
experience to be guarded against the force of such lan- 
guage ; for, when propriety is neglected, a greater 
number of these affecting words may be taken into the 
service, and a greater variety may be indulged in com- 
bining them. 

Why are not these words unoperative ? When is style bombastic ? Why 
does it require much good sense and experience to be guarded against the 
force of such language ? 

s 



206 ON THE SUBLIME 

SECTION IV. 

THE EFFECTS OF WORDS. 

If words have all their possible extent of power, 
three effects arise in the mind of the hearer. The first 
is, the sou7id ; the second, the picture, or representa- 
tion of the thing signified by the sound ; the third is, 
the affection of the soul produced by one or by both of 
the foregoing. Compounded abstract words, of which 
we have been speaking (honor, justice, liberty, and the 
like), produce the first and the last of these effects, but 
not the second. Simple abstracts are used to signify 
some one simple idea, without much adverting to oth- 
ers which may chance to attend it, as blue, green, hot, 
cold, and the like ; these are capable of affecting all 
three of the purposes of words; as the aggregate words, 
man, castle, horse, &c., are in a yet higher degree. 
But I am of opinion that the most general effect, even 
of these words, does not arise from their forming pic- 
tures of the several things they would represent in the 
imagination ; because, on a very diligent examination 
of my own mind, and getting others to consider theirs, 
I do not find that once in twenty times any such pic- 
ture is formed ; and, when it is, there is most common- 
ly a particular effort of the imagination for that pui^- 
pose. But the aggregate words operate, as I said of 
the compound abstracts, not by presenting any image 
to the mind, but by having, from use, the same effect 
on being mentioned that their original has when it is 

If words have all their possible extent of power, what three things arise 
in the mind of the hearer? Of compound abstract words, what is observ- 
ed? To signify what are simple abstracts used? What examples are 
given ? and what is said of them ? Why does not their most general eifect 
arise from pictures of the several things that they would represent in the 
imagination 1 How do the aggi-egate words operate ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 207 

seen. Suppose we were to read a passage to this ef- 
fect : " The River Danube rises in a moist and mount- 
ainous soil in the heart of Germany, where, winding to 
and fro, it waters several principalities, until, turning 
into Austria, and leaving the walls of Vienna, it passes 
into Hungary : there, with a vast flood, augmented by 
the Saave and the Drave, it quits Christendom ; and, 
rolling through the barbarous countries which border 
on Tartary, it enters by many mouths into the Black 
Sea." In this description many things are mentioned, 
as mountains, rivers, cities, the sea, &c. But let any 
body examine himself, and see whether he has had im- 
pressed on his imagination any pictures of a river, 
mountain, watery soil, Germany, &c. Indeed, it is im- 
possible, in the rapidity and quick succession of words 
in conversation, to have ideas both of the sound of the 
word and of the thing represented ; besides, some words, 
expressing real essences, are so mixed with others of 
a general and nominal import, that it is impracticable 
to jump from sense to thought, from particulars to gen- 
erals, from things to words, in such a manner as to an- 
swer the purposes of life ; nor is it necessary that we 
should. 



SECTION V. 

EXAMPLES THAT WORDS MAY AFFECT WITHOUT RAISING 
IMAGES. 

I FIND it very hard to persuade several that their pas- 
sions are affected by words from whence they have no 

How is this illustrated ? Of this description, what is said ? In the rapid- 
ity and quick succession of words in conversation, what is impossible ? Be- 
sides, what is remarked ? 
What has our author found a very difficult task ? 



I 



208 ON THE SUBLIME 

ideas ; and yet harder to convince them that, in the or- 
dinary course of conversation, we are sufficiently un- 
derstood without raising any images of the things con- 
cerning which we speak. It seems to be an odd ob- 
ject of dispute with any man whether he has ideas in 
his mind or not. Of this, at first view, every man, in 
his own forum, ought to judge without appeal. But, 
strange as it may appear, we are often at a loss to know 
what ideas we have of things, or whether we have any 
ideas at all upon some subjects. It even requires a 
good deal of attention to be thoroughly satisfied on 
this head. Since I wrotet hese papers, I found two 
very striking instances of the possibihty there is that a 
man may hear words without having any idea of the 
things which they represent, and yet afterward be ca 
pable of returning them to others, combined in a new 
way, and with great propriety, energy, and instruction. 
The first instance is that of Mr. Blacklock, a poet blind 
from his birth. Few men blessed with the most per- 
fect sight can describe visual objects with more spirit 
and justness than this blind man, which can not possi- 
bly be attributed to his having a clearer conception of 
the things he describes than is common to other per- 
sons. Mr. Spence, in an elegant preface which he has 
written to the works of this poet, reasons very inge- 
niously, and I imagine, for the most part, very rightly, 
upon the cause of this extraordinary phenomenon ; but 
I can not altogether agree with him, that some impro- 
prieties in language and thought which occur in these 
poems have arisen from the blind poet's imperfect con- 

What seems to be an odd object of dispute ? Of this what is said? To 
know what are we often at a loss ? Of what did our author find two strik- 
ing instances after having written these papers ? What is the first ? and 
what is said of him ? Of Mr. Spence, in an elegant preface which he has 
written to the works of this poet, what is observed ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 209 

ception of visual objects ; since such improprieties, and 
much greater, may be found in writers even of a high- 
er class than Mr. Blacklock, and w^ho, notw^ithstanding, 
possessed the faculty of seeing in its full perfection. 
Here is a poet doubtless as much affected by his own 
descriptions as any that reads them can be ; and yet 
he is affected with this strong enthusiasm by things of 
which he neither has, nor can possibly have, any idea, 
farther than that of a bare sound ; and why may not 
those who read his works be affected in the same man- 
ner that he was, with as little of any real ideas of the 
things described ? The second instance is of Mr. 
Saunderson, professor of mathematics in the Univer- 
sity of Cambridge. This learned man had acquired 
great knowledge in natural philosophy, in astronomy, 
and whatever sciences depend upon mathematical skill. 
What was the most extraordinary and the most to my 
purpose, he gave excellent lectures upon light and col- 
ors ; and this man taught others the theory of those 
ideas which they had, and which he himself undoubt- 
edly had not. But it is probable that the words red, blue, 
green, answered to him as well as the ideas of the col- 
ors themselves : for the ideas of greater or lesser de- 
grees of refrangibility being applied to these words, 
and the blind man being instructed in what other re- 
spects they were found to agree or to disagree, it was 
as easy for him to reason upon the words as if he had 
been fully master of the ideas. Indeed, it must be 
owned he could make no new discoveries in the way 
of experiment. He did nothing but what we do eve- 



How is this illustrated? What is the second instance? and of him what 
is said ? Why is it probable that the words red, blue, and green, answered 
to him as well as the ideas of colors themselves ? Of him, what must be 
acknowledged ? and what only did hf^ do ? 

S 2 



210 ON THE SUBLIME 

ry day in common discourse. When I wrote this last 
sentence, and used the words every day and common 
discourse, I had no images in my mind of any succes- 
sion of time ; nor of men in conference with each oth- 
er ; nor do I imagine that the reader will have any 
such ideas on reading it. Neither, when I spoke of 
red or blue and green, as well as refrangibihty, had I 
these several colors, or the rays of light passing into a 
different medium, and there diverted from their course, 
painted before me in the way of images. I know very 
well that the mind possesses a faculty of raising such 
images at pleasure ; but then an act of the will is ne- 
cessary to this ; and, in ordinary conversation or read- 
ing, it is very rarely that any image at all is excited in 
the mind. If I say " I shall go to Italy next summer," 
I am well understood. Yet I believe nobody has by 
this painted in his imagination the exact figure of the 
speaker passing by land or by water, or both ; some- 
times on horseback, sometimes in a carriage ; with all 
the particulars of the journey. Still less has he any 
idea of Italy, the country to which I proposed to go ; 
or of the greenness of the fields, the ripening of the 
fruits, and the warmth of the air, with the change to 
this from a different season, which are the ideas for 
which the word summer is substituted : but least of all 
has he any image from the word next ; for this word 
stands for the idea of many summers, with the exclu- 
sion of all but one ; and surely the man who says next 
summer has no images of such a succession and such 
an exclusion. In short, it is not only of those ideas 
which are commonly called abstract, and of which no 

How is this illustrated ? What faculty does the mind possess ? what is ne- 
cessary to this, and why ? How is this illustrated ? Of what do we con- 
verse without having any idea of them excited in the imagination ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 211 

image at all can be formed, but even of particular real 
beings, that we converse without having any idea of 
them excited in the imagination ; as will certainly ap- 
pear on a diligent examination of our own minds. In- 
deed, so little does poetry depend for its effect on the 
power of raising sensible images, that I am convinced 
it would lose a very considerable part of its energy if 
this were the necessary result of all description : be- 
cause that union of affecting words, which is the most 
powerful of all poetical instruments, would frequently 
lose its force, along with its propriety and consistency, 
if the sensible images were always excited. There is 
not, perhaps, in the whole ^Eneid, a more grand and la- 
bored passage than the description of Vulcan's cavern 
in iEtna, and the works that are there carried on. 
Virgil dwells particularly on the formation of the thun- 
der, which he describes unfinished under the hammers 
of the Cyclops. But what are the principles of this 
extraordinary composition ? 

" Tres imbris torti radios, tres nubis aquosse 
Addiderant ; nitili tres ignis et alitis austri 
Fulgores nunc terrificos sonitumque, metumque 
Miscebant operi, flammisque sequacibus iras." 

This seems to me admirably sublime ; yet, if we attend 
coolly to the kind of sensible images which a combi- 
nation of ideas of this sort must form, the chimeras of 
madmen can not appear more wild and absurd than 
such a picture. " Three rays of twisted showers, three 
of watery clouds, three of fire, and three of the winged 
south wind ; then mixed they in the work terrific light- 
nings, and sound, and fear, and anger, with pursuing 
fiames" This strange composition is formed into a 

Of poetry, in connection with this subject, what is remarked, and why ? 
How is this illustrated ? Of this description, what is remarked ? Repeat it. 



212 ON THE SUBLIME 

gross body ; it is hammered by the Cyclops ; it is in 
part polished, and partly continues rough. The truth 
is, if poetry gives us a noble assemblage of words cor- 
responding to many noble ideas, which are connected 
by circumstances of time or place, or related to each 
other as cause and effect, or associated in any natural 
way, they may be molded together in any form, and 
perfectly answer their end. The picturesque connec- 
tion is not demanded, because no real picture is form- 
ed ; nor is the effect of the description at all the less 
upon this account. What is said of Helen by Priam 
and the old men of his council, is generally thought to 
give us the highest possible idea of that fatal beauty : 

Ov vefj,eaig TpiJag kol evKviJi^iSag 'Axaiovg, 
Tof^d' cifKpl yvvaiKL ttoTivv xpovov aXyta ndaxsiv " 
AlvcJc adavdrriaL ^eyg elg cona eoiKev. 
" They cried, No wonder such celestial charms 
For nine long years have set the world in arms : 
What winning graces I what majestic mien ! 
She moves a goddess, and she looks a queen." — Pope. 

/tiere is not one word said of the particulars of her beau- 
[ty ; nothing which can, in the least", help us to any pre- 
Vcise idea of her person ; but yet we are much more 
touched by this manner of mentioning her, than by 
those long and labored descriptions of Helen, whether 
handed down by tradition or formed by fancy, which 
are to be met with in some authors. I am sure it af- 
fects me much more than the minute description which 
Spenser has given of Belphebe ; though I own that 
there are parts in that description, as there are in all 



When may words in poetry be molded together in any form, and perfectly 
answer their end? Why is not the picturesque connection demanded? 
How is this illustrated ? Of this description, what is remarked ? How 
does this compare with Spenser's description of Belphebe? and what is 
said of it ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 213 

the descriptions of that excellent writer, extremely fine 
and poetical. The terrible picture which Lucretius 
has drawn of Religion, in order to display the magna- 
nimity of his philosophical hero in opposing her, is 
thought to be designed with great boldness and spirit : 

" Humana ante oculos fcede cum vita jaceret, 

In terris, oppressa gravi sub religione, 

Quae caput e coeli regionibus ostendebat 

Horribili desuper visu mortalibus instans ; 

Primus Grains homo mortales toUere contra 

Est oculos ausus." 
" When human life was base in the eyes of men, when every land was 
oppressed by severe religion, who showed her gloomy head from the regions 
of heaven to affrighted men, the most excellent of the Greeks dared to 
oppose her." 

What idea do you derive from so excellent a picture ? 
None at all, most certainly ; neither has the poet said 
a single word which might, in the least, serve to mark 
a single limb or feature of the phantom, which he in- 
tended to represent in all the horrors imagination can 
conceive. In reality, poetry and rhetoric do not suc- 
ceed, in exact description, so well as painting does: 
their business is to aifect rather by sympathy than im- 
itation ; to display rather the effect of things on the 
mind of the speaker, or of others, than to present a 
clear idea of the things themselves. This is their 
most extensive province, and that in which they suc- 
ceed the best. 



SECTION VI. 

POETRY IS NOT STRICTLY AN IMITATIVE ART. 

Hence we may observe, that poetry, taken in its 

Repeat Lucretius's picture of Religion? What is said of it ? Why do not 
poetry and rhetoric succeed in exact description as well as painting doei? ? 
Hence what may we observe ? 



OA THE SUBLIME 



most general sense, can not, with strict propriety, be 
called an art of imitation. It is, indeed, an imitation, 
so far as it describes the manners and passions of men, 
which their words can express ; where animi motus 
effei't interprete lingua — " Language acts as, interpreter 
of the mind :" there it is strictly imitation ; and all 
merely dramatic poetry is of this sort. But descrip- 
tive poetry operates chiefly by substitution; by the 
means of sounds, which by custom have the effect of 
realities. Nothing is an imitation farther than as it 
resembles some other thing ; and words undoubtedly 
have no sort of resemblance to the ideas for which they 
stand. 



SECTION VII. 

HOW WORDS INFLUENCE THE PASSIONS. 

Now, as words affect, not by any original power, 

but by representation, it might be supposed that their 

/influence over the passions should be but light : yet it 

/ is quite otherwise ; for we find by experience that el- 

[ oquence and poetry are as capable, nay, indeed, much 

I more capable, of making deep and lively impressions, 

\ than any other arts, and even than nature itself, in very 

\ many cases. And this arises chiefly from these three 

causes : First, that we take an extraordinary part in 

the passions of others, and that we are easily affected 

and brought into sympathy by any tokens which are 

How far is it an imitation ? What poetry is of this sort ? How does de- 
scriptive poetry operate ? How far may any thing be an imitation ? and 
what follows ? 

Why might it be supposed that the influence of words over the passions 
should be but light ? How does it appear that it is quite otherwise ? What 
is the first cause from which this arises? 



And beautiful. 216 

shown of them ; and there are no tokens which can 
express all the circumstances of most passions so fully 
as words ; so that, if a person speaks upon any subject, 
he can not only convey the subject to you, but likewise 
the manner in which he is himself affected by it. Cer- 
tain it is, that the influence of most things on our pas- 
sions is not so much from the things themselves as from! 
our opinions concerning them ; and these, again, de-( 
pend very much on the opinions of other men, convey- 
able, for the most part, by words only. Secondly, 
there are many things of a very aflfecting nature which 
can seldom occur in the reality ; but the words which 
represent them often do ; and thus they have an oppor- 
tunity of making a deep impression and taking root in 
the mind, while the idea of the reality was transient ; 
and to some, perhaps, never really occurred in any 
shape, to whom it is, notwithstanding, very affecting, 
as war, death, famine, &c. Besides, many ideas have 
never been at all presented to the senses of any man 
but by words, as God, angels, devils, heaven, and hell ; 
all of which have, however, a great influence over the 
passions. Thirdly , by words we have it in our pow- 
er to make such combinations as we can not possibly 
do otherwise. By this power of combining, we are 
able, by the addition of well-chosen circumstances, to 
give a new life and force to simple objects. In paint- 
ing, we may represent any fine figure we please ; but 
we never can give it those enlivening touches which it 
may receive from words. To represent an angel in a 
picture, you can only draw a beautiful young man 

As there are no tokens which can express all the circumstances of most pas- 
sions so fully as words, what follows ? What is certain ? What is the sec- 
ond cause from which this arises ? Besides this, what is remarked ? What 
is the third cause? What advantage do we derive from this power of com- 
bining ? Of painting, what is remarked ? 



^16 ON THE SUBLIME 

winged ; but what painting can furnish out any thing 
so grand as the addition of one word, " the angel of the 
Lord V It is true, I have here no clear idea ; but these 
words affect the mind more than the sensible image 
did, which is all I contend for. A picture of Priam 
dragged to the altar's foot, and there murdered, if it 
were well executed, would undoubtedly be very mov- 
ing ; but there are very aggravating circumstances 
which it could never represent : 

" Sanguine fcedantern quos ipse sacraverat ignes." 
•' Defiling with blood those fires which he himself had consecrated." 

As a farther instance, let us consider those lines of Mil- 
ton, where he describes the travels of the fallen angels 
through their dismal habitation : 

'* O'er many a dark and dreary vale 
They pass'd, and many a region dolorous ; 
O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp ; 
Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death — 
A universe of death." 

Here is displayed the force of union in 

"Rocks, caves, lakes, dens, bogs, fens, and shades;" 

which yet would lose the greatest part of the effect, 
if they were not the 

" Rocks, caves, lakes, dens, bogs, fens, and shades — of Death.^^ 

The idea of this affection caused by a word, which 
nothing but a word could annex to the others, raises a 
very great degree of the sublime ; and this sublime is 
raised yet higher by what follows — a "universe of 
I Death." Here are again two ideas presentable only 
by language, and a union of them great and amazing 

How is the advantage of words over painting illustrated ? Of a picture of 
Priam, what is observed? What instance of this have we from Milton? 
In this passage, what is displayed ? How would it lose the greatest part 
of its effect ? By what is its sublimity increased ? Of the two ideas here 
presented, what is remarked ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 217 

beyond conception, if they may properly be called 
ideas which present no distinct image to the mind ; but 
still it will be difficult to conceive how words can 
move the passions which belong to real objects, without 
representing these objects clearly. This is difficult to 
us, because we do not sufficiently distinguish, in our ob- 
servations upon language, between a clear expression 
and a strong expression. These are frequently con- 
founded with each other, though they are, in reality, 
extremely different. The former regards the under- 
standing ; the latter belongs to the passions ; the one 
describes a thing as it is ; the other describes it as it is 
felt. Now, as there is a moving tone of voice, an im- 
passioned countenance, an agitated gesture, which af- 
fect independently of the things about which they are 
exerted ; so there are words, and certain dispositions 
of words, which, being peculiarly devoted to passion- 
ate subjects, and always used by those who are under 
the influence of any passion, touch and move us more 
than those which far more clearly and distinctly ex- 
press the subject matter. We yield to sympathy what 
we refuse to description. The truth is, all verbal de- 
scription, merely as naked description, though never so 
exact, conveys so poor and insufficient an idea of the 
thing described, that it could scarcely have the small- 
est effect, if the speaker did not call in to his aid those 
modes of speech that mark a strong and lively feeling 
in himself Then, by the contagion of our passions, 
we catch a fire, already kindled in another, which prob- 
ably might never have been struck out by the object 
described. Words, by strongly conveying the passions 

Still, what will be difficult, and why ? What do they respectively regard 
and describe ? and what follows ? WTiat do we yield to sympathy ? Of all 
verbal description, what is observed ? What is then the consequence T How 
do words fully compensate for their weakness in other respects ? 

T 



218 ON THE SUBLIME 

by those means which we have ah'eady mentioned, ful- 
ly compensate for their weakness in otlier respects. It 
4nay be observed, that very polished languages, and 
such as are praised for their superior clearness and 
perspicuity, are generally deficient in strength. The 
French language has that perfection and that defect. 
Whereas the Oriental tongues, and, in general, the lan- 
guages of most unpolished people, have a great force 
and energy of expression ; and this is but natural. Un- 
cultivated people are but ordinary observers of things, 
and not critical in distinguishing them ; but, for that 
reason, they admire more, and are more affected with 
what they see, and therefore express themselves in a 
warmer and more passionate manner. If the affection 
be well conveyed, it will work its effect without any 
clear idea ; often without any idea at all of the thing 
which has originally given rise to it. 

It might be expected, from the fertility of the subject, 
that I should consider poetry, as it regards the sublime 
and beautiful, more at large ; but it must be observed 
that, in this light, it has been often and well handled al- 
ready. It was not my design to enter into the criti- 
cism of the sublime and beautiful in any art, but to at- 
tempt to lay down such principles as may tend to as- 
certain, to distinguish, and to form a sort of standard 
for them ; which purposes I thought might be best ef- 
fected by an inquiry into the properties of such things 
in nature as raise love and astonishment in us ; and by 

What may be observed of very polished languages ? and what example is 
given ? Why have Oriental tongues, and the languages of most unpolish- 
ed people, great energy and force of expression? If the affection be well 
conveyed, what will be the consequence ? From the fertility of the sub- 
ject, what might be expected ? but what must be observed ? What only 
was our author's design ? and how did he think that this might be best ef- 
fected ? 



AND BEAUTIFUL. 219 

showing in what manner they operated to produce 
these passions. Words were only so far to be consid- 
ered as to show upon what principle they were capa- 
ble of being the representatives of these natural things, 
and by what powers they were able to affect us often 
as strongly as the things they represent, and sometimes 
much more strongly. 

How far were words to be considered ? 



THE END. 



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